Jessie Maverick's Kin
by MaverickLover2
Summary: A previously unknown Maverick Aunt Leaves Bret, Bart and Beau a saloon and trouble soon follows
1. Chapter 1 We Have a What?

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 1 – We Have a What?

"What do you suppose Pappy wants now?" That was the question posed by Bret Maverick to his brother Bart and cousin Beau as they smoked cigars and waited outside the house. Bart shrugged idly and Beau pretended not to be interested. He was so happy to have gotten back into Beauregard Maverick's good graces that it didn't matter what his uncle wanted him for, just as long as he was wanted. The three cousins, having been raised together and spent most of their adult lives together, were closer than most brothers. All three were professional gamblers and all three were gathered on the front porch of the small ranch in Little Bend, Texas, waiting to find out just why they had been summoned home. Inside the house were the three most important people in the world to them: Pappy, Beau's father and Beauregard's brother Bentley, and Lily Mae Hankers, Bentley's long time housekeeper. They had been in there for some time and the 'boys' out on the porch were getting restless.

All three had been quite surprised to get a telegram from Pappy calling them back as soon as possible. Bret was in Kansas City winning at poker and Bart and Beau were in New Orleans with Bart's friend Anderson Garrett having a grand time. Anderson believed in living in luxury and the cousins were more than willing to share in the good fortune of his indulgences. None of them had been particularly happy to get the 'return home order' from Beauregard, but Pappy was the head of the family and not to be ignored. In the due course of a day or two all three had begun making their way south, back to the place they were raised.

Now they found themselves standing like schoolboys outside the house, wondering what was so urgent that their endeavors to make or spend a living had to be interrupted. They'd already been waiting a long time and they were restless. And hungry. That might have been the reason for Lily Mae's presence since all three swore by her cooking and never missed a chance to eat one of her meals.

Finally the door to the house opened and Uncle Bentley appeared. Without saying anything he motioned them inside. Each cousin entered, hat in hand, and greeted Lily Mae. As usual she was more than happy to see 'her boys', though they had long since ceased being boys. There were five chairs placed around the table and they each took an empty seat. Lily Mae shuffled back into the tiny kitchen to stir something that smelled delicious. Pappy cleared his throat and waited impatiently for them to get settled, just as he had when they were young. He scrutinized each of them in turn, with a look of pride aimed first at Bret, his oldest, then Bart, his youngest, and finally at Beau, his namesake. Top-notch gamblers all, each one taught the art of poker by him and Bentley. They were a fine looking group, even if he had to say so himself. Ben finally gave Beau a glare and Pappy got down to business.

"You all know your Uncle Micah, back in Charleston. Micah is just fine and cantankerous as ever. But you didn't know your Aunt Jessie in Montana." Pappy paused for effect and the young men looked at each other curiously. Who was this Aunt Jessie? Was she a Maverick or kin to one of their deceased mothers? They didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"Pappy?" Bret queried. "Aunt Jessie What?"

"Or who?" asked Bart

"Or whom?" corrected Beau.

"Jessalyn Victoria Maverick," Bentley stated. "Our only sister."

The cousin's looked at each other in bewilderment. All these years there had been no mention of any other closely related Maverick besides Uncle Micah. And now, all of a sudden, an Aunt Jessie. Where did she come from? Who was she? And why had she been such a secret all these years?

Pappy and Bentley took turns 'unspinning' the yarn. Four Maverick children grew up in Louisiana – Beauregard, Bentley, Micah and Jessalyn. Micah was a hard working young man who had a head for business and was destined to do well. Beauregard and Bentley were trouble from the start, learning the wicked ways of gambling and avoiding real work at all costs. It was hoped that young Jessalyn, or Jessie as she was called, would take after her brother Micah rather than Beau or Ben. It was not to be. Whatever wild, free spirit infected the two oldest Maverick children was also inherited by the youngest. Jessie was a sight to behold, with silken dark red hair and the most beautiful blue eyes ever seen in the south. Ma and Pa Maverick couldn't contain her, and no one was surprised when she vanished at age 15. Rumors were heard of her as far away as the Wyoming territory, and the two older boys delighted in spreading the crazy tales they heard about their sister. Jessie seemed to outgrow her wild ways in her twenties, and wrote to her family about settling down and getting married. That wasn't to last long, however, as her husband died young and she received a small sum of money from his estate. Ma and Pa were gone by that time so Micah tried to persuade her to join the brothers in Texas. Instead she went to the Montana territory and opened a saloon, where she lived the rest of her life. She met a man named Edgar Pike and while she wouldn't legally marry him she lived the with him in a common-law marriage. Which brought them to the reason for the hastily called family summit.

"Jessie passed recently in Montana. She was sickly as a child and caught everything when she was younger," here Pappy looked at Bart, "and we hoped that she'd outgrown that tendency, but it looks like something got her." Beauregard and Bentley exchanged knowing looks. Bret tried to hurry the tale along. "What about Edgar Pike?"

"Oh, he's still alive."

"In Montana?" was Bret's next question.

"Yes, son, in Montana."

"And?" All three looked at Pappy in exasperation. Surely there was a reason for this tale.

"And Jessie left a will when she died."

Bart and Beau watched Pappy with nervous anticipation, but Bret was already a step ahead of his father. "And the saloon?"

"Jessie never had any children. She left the saloon to her nephews."

XXXXXXXX

Everyone at the table fell silent. An Aunt they didn't know. A saloon they'd never heard of. And unexpectedly they were business owners.

"Is it worth anything?" asked Bart.

"Can we sell it?" asked Beau.

"What does Mr. Pike have to say about it?" asked Bret.

"Practical questions, all. Yes, maybe, and not much. Mr. Pike, I am told, feels that the property should be his after 20 odd years together. Not an unexpected opinion. An incorrect one, however." Pappy looked around the table at his boys. They'd spent so much time together that both Beauregard and Bentley tended to think of them all as sons. Having two fathers _almost_ took the place of having no mother.

'Where is this saloon, Pappy? And what's it called?" Bart asked.

"In Silver Creek, near the Wyoming border. Booming little town. Jessie always seemed real happy there. The saloon must do well; it's been there over 20 years. She named it 'The Three Mavericks Saloon' after us three black sheep. You boys need to hightail it up there, find out what it's all about. See if you can make it work. Or see if you can get rid of it. Keep Pike from getting his hands on it."

The three younger Mavericks looked at each other knowingly. Pappy had a point; they were the new owners. At least for the time being. It was certainly worth a trip. Besides, how much trouble could they get into?


	2. Chapter 2 Three Mavericks and a Lady

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 2 – Three Mavericks and a Lady

Their stay in Texas was short. It hadn't been that long since Bret and Bart had been wrongfully accused men wanted for murder in their home state; though ultimately cleared of any wrongdoing they still weren't completely comfortable there. And Beau was ready to leave almost immediately, before he did anything to make Uncle Beauregard angry with him again, like he had when he'd volunteered for the Confederate Army and won a medal. It was decided that they would depart for Montana the next morning. None of them were pleased to have made such a long trip for so short a visit, but all three Mavericks were eager to see their inheritance. And learn as much as they could about Aunt Jessie.

It was decided that they would go to Silver Creek by stage; there was too much Indian Territory between Texas and Montana to take unnecessary risks. No packing was required – none of them had time to unpack when they got to Little Bend. They caught the stage in town and headed northwest. The journey took several days but time went by quickly; they were the only stagecoach passengers and they played poker almost the entire trip. Playing among the three of them was purely for fun; they cheated each other too much to play for money. "Just like when we were kids," Bret reminded them.

At long last the stage pulled into Silver Creek and the three Mavericks departed. First order of business was checking into a hotel and they were pleasantly surprised to find that the town had not one but two decent places to stay. They had decided en route to be cautious about using the Maverick name and all three registered as 'Mansfield,' a name that had been used by one of them before. They got separate rooms; Bart had spent too many nights out on the trail with either Bret or Beau and they both snored. They each got cleaned up and met in the dining room. It was pleasant to be able to eat a meal without bouncing around in a stage immediately after. Bret and Bart sat and drank coffee; Beau had picked up the habit of substituting tea. They talked among themselves and made the decision that only one of them should check out the saloon now; the other two would make a later appearance. And they would go separately, not together. For all they knew, the whole town was waiting for the new owners to put in an appearance at "The Three Mavericks."

Bret wandered over to the establishment and was impressed by how many of the menfolk were inside. And the most encouraging fact was that they weren't just drinking, they were gambling. The poker tables were full and the roulette wheel was in constant use. The saloon girls were all busily engaged laughing and encouraging the men to 'drink up!' For a family that didn't drink hard liquor, the Mavericks did not expect others to follow suit. Bret drifted over to the bar and ordered his usual, coffee. There was no hesitation and the bartender poured from a fresh pot. That was good to see. Aunt Jessie hadn't ignored teetotalers.

He stood for a few minutes and watched. Then a cowpoke rose and gave up his spot at one of the poker tables and Bret walked over. "Can a stranger join?" he asked politely of the men at the table.

"Sure," came the immediate response from the fellow that appeared to be the house man. He chuckled and said "You can't be any stranger than the rest of us." The whole table laughed and Bret sat down. He introduced himself with a nod of his head. "Bret Mansfield." He anteed up and the game was off and running.

He'd been playing for about an hour, winning small but steady pots, when he saw Bart walk in. Something didn't look quite right but Bret didn't want to leave the game. He watched Bart look the place over and go to the bar, just as he had done. The difference was that Bart said something to the bartender, nodded, and then picked up the drink that the bartender just poured. He carried it over to an empty table and set it down, then went back and got black coffee. That went to the table also, and Bart pulled out an empty chair and sat. Two or three minutes later Beau came through the batwing doors and walked straight over to Bart. He sat down, picked up the drink and drained the glass. _'Well,'_ thought Bret, _'so much for the Mavericks not drinking.' _Then he saw the welt on the front of Beau's forehead and knew there's been some kind of trouble. _'Uh oh, already?'_

Bart and Beau talked animatedly for a few minutes and a pretty dark-haired saloon girl walked over to their table and sat down. She flirted with Beau for a time and then signaled the bartender over with an empty glass and a bottle. Beau poured the girl a drink and set the bottle back on the table. It appeared that, even with a welt on his head, Beau's limit was still one.

Cousin Beau and the girl continued to talk but Bart's eyes swept the entire building. He too was pleased to see the crowd in the saloon, especially since this wasn't a Friday night and there were no cattle drives in town. Of major concern was the fact that somebody had attacked Beau as he entered his hotel room without any apparent reason. Nothing was taken or even disturbed and no one was seen fleeing the room. They'd only been in town a few hours and already trouble. No one even knew who they were.

Or did they? What if someone had seen them arrive and put two and two together? After all, everyone in town probably knew that Jessie had left the saloon to her nephews. Maybe they were being watched. Bart shook his head as if arguing with himself. It didn't make sense. He didn't have all the puzzle pieces. Over the customary noise in the place Bart could hear fragments of the conversation the saloon girl was trying to have with Beau. She was interested and he very clearly wasn't. Bart took another look at the girl and wondered just how hard Beau had been hit. She was pretty in a traditional way, but even though she was relatively young her looks had already started to fade. "Really Lettie, not tonight. You go ahead and have another. I'll be fine. I'd just like to sit here for a while." Lettie said something back to Beau, which Bart didn't hear, then he turned again to watch Bret. He seemed to have everything under control and it had been a long, hard trip. Bart was really looking forward to sleeping in a decent bed tonight and left money on the table as he rose to go. He gave a little nod to Bret, tipped his hat to Lettie, and told Beau, "Later, partner."

Beau and Lettie watched him leave the saloon. Actually only Lettie watched him leave. Beau's head was throbbing and the only thing he wanted to do was get up and follow Bart back to the hotel as fast as his legs would carry him. "Why don't you have another?" Lettie asked as she poured a shot into Beau's glass.

Beau tried to shake his head 'no' but it hurt too much. He was reduced to telling Lettie politely, "No thank you, ma'am. I need some rest." He tried to stand and the room swam slightly before it stopped moving. With his feet back under him he continued, "The rest is yours. The bottle is paid for."

Lettie made a face but downed the shot. Who was this very good looking and very polite fellow with the English accent? "Thanks, honey. Say, what's your name?"

"Mav . . . . . Mansfield," Beau corrected at the last second. He touched the brim of his hat and nodded at Lettie. "You have a nice night, ma'am." With that he was out the doors and gone. Lettie sat still for a moment, then picked up the bottle and took it back to Harry at the bar. "Put this on my shelf," she told him. "It's paid for." She straightened her dress while trying to find another likely candidate for the evening_. 'So your name is Maverick, huh? Just which one are you, Mr. Maverick? And who else did you and your friend bring with you?'_ Lettie wondered as she found another prospect and sashayed across the room.

XXXXXXXX

Bart wearily climbed the hotel stairs and unlocked his door. Everything looked normal until he checked the window sill and noticed a small smudged handprint that hadn't been there when he left for the saloon. Who was already on to them? And just what were they looking for?

Putting the pieces together would have to wait until morning. He could barely keep his eyes open.

XXXXXXXX

Once she was certain he was asleep, she crept out from behind the dressing screen and began her search. She was careful not to disturb anything too much as she went through his clothes and personal belongings and found nothing that was of any use. _'They weren't going to make this easy, were they?'_ she wondered. When she'd examined almost the entire room she finally turned to his jacket, hung neatly over a chair. On the inside she found a $1,000 bill pinned to the lining. His wallet yielded nothing of any consequence except some smaller bills and an engraving on the inner flap – 'Bart Maverick.' That wasn't any help. She already knew he was one of the Mavericks.

It didn't appear that her stealthy looting of the room and its contents was going to yield information of any importance. She still didn't know why they were here, or what their relationship was to each other. Or even if they were the right Mavericks. She sighed and admitted defeat. And then quietly snuck out of the room, leaving the door unlocked behind her. She considered trying to get into one of the other two rooms, maybe the one that belonged to the dark haired one, when she heard someone coming up the stairs. She fled down the hallway and turned the corner just in time to catch a glimpse of the blonde Britiah-sounding man, the one she had been forced to hit with the butt of her pistol when he almost caught her snooping earlier while she was closing the door to his room. Was he another one of the new saloon owners or just a 'tag-along' that Bart Maverick had brought with him? Too much going on the first night they were here, she decided. Her next attempt to dig up some information that might prove useful would have to wait. She found her way to the back stairs and left the hotel.


	3. Chapter 3 Divide and Conquer

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 3 – Divide and Conquer

Another beautiful day in Silver Creek. Unless your name was Maverick.

Beau's skull still hurt. Bart's back was sore. Bret only managed to win $25 the whole night.

Beau got dressed and went down for coffee. When your head hurt this bad, no matter what caused it, you needed something stronger than tea. After he'd ordered he asked the waitress "Do you have any aspirin, by any chance?" She went back to turn in his order and returned with one small pill. "Doc Washburn left this here just in case," she told Beau. He took the tablet gratefully and washed it down with his coffee.

Bart took the stairs to the dining room as slowly as he had taken them up to his room last night. He was so tired that he hadn't changed positions in the bed all night and his back hurt. He walked stiffly into the dining room and spotted Beau in the corner drinking coffee and looking like a man whose head was killing him. Two down, one to go.

Bret entered the hotel lobby and headed toward food. It was not a productive night when twelve hours of playing poker yielded only a $25 return on your investment. And he was starving, not having eaten since supper the night before. Beau and Bart were already seated at the back table and Bret joined them. Beau had a half-eaten breakfast in front of him but Bart was just drinking coffee. For the third time the waitress brought an empty cup and the coffee pot, refilling the other cups after she poured Bret's.

"Bacon and eggs, lots of eggs, and toast." Bret looked at Bart. "Is that all you're having?"

"Some toast, please. And keep the coffee coming."

"Order some food, man. You need some meat on your bones."

Bart smiled at the waitress and repeated "Just toast, please."

Beau looked at the two of them miserably. "Stop the caterwauling, please. My head is throbbing."

Bret shook his head and went "Tsk, tsk. Shouldn't drink so much, Cousin Beau." Bart started to laugh and thought better of it. "You're not the only one," he told Beau sympathetically. "Course no one hit me over the head. But there was someone in my room last night."

"Who?" Beau managed.

"Don't know. Didn't catch anybody, just found their handprint. It was small enough to be a woman's. Didn't take OR leave anything." Bart turned to Bret. "How about you?"

"I don't know," Bret answered. "I haven't been in my room since last night."

"Worthwhile night?"

"Hardly," came the reply. He turned to Beau. "What happened?"

Beau looked a little less pitiful than before. "I went back to my room after dinner to get cigars. The door was unlocked and when I opened it somebody hit me with something."

"Really descriptive," Bret shot back. "Somebody with something?"

"Fine," Beau responded. "The next time you get hit over the head we'll see how eloquent you are. That's all I know."

"Now, Cousin Beauregard, don't go getting all offended. I'm just trying to figure out what we've walked in to."

Bart ignored the bantering back and forth between the cousins. "Something sure seems odd. Why break into our rooms? What are they looking for? And who are they?"

"Don't have any answers for that, but they sure didn't waste any time. Let's split up and see what we can find out. Bart, you go see Aunt Jessie's lawyer. Beau, you go back to the saloon and see if you can pry anything out of that pretty little girl that wanted your attention last night. I'll go out to Jessie and Edgar's and visit Mr. Pike. No sense pretending we're anyone but Mavericks, looks like somebody already knows."

Bart nodded agreement; Beau made a face and grabbed his head; Bret laughed at Beau.

XXXXXXXX

Lawyers not being Bart's favorite people in the world, he went to see Hiram Foster, Esq. anyway. The lawyer's offices were bright and sizeable; no one in this town seemed to be hurting for business. As soon as Bart announced himself to Attorney Foster's clerk the little man scurried down the hall to a large office and went inside. In just a moment he hurried back out and came to get Bart, ushering him to a comfortable chair facing Foster's impressive desk. _'Doesn't anyone in this town do anything on a small scale?'_ Bart wondered. The attorney, a distinguished looking gentleman of around 50 years old, rose to greet Bart and shake his hand. "Mr. Maverick, so nice to meet you. You are the son of Mr. Beauregard Maverick of Little Bend, Texas?"

"I am," Bart answered. "There are two of us. We're an unmatched set."

Foster laughed pleasantly. "And is your brother with you? His name is Bret, isn't it?"

"It is."

"And?"

Bart's eyes swept the room before answering. Not only was the size of the desk impressive, the entire room was impressive. Hiram Foster was quite successful, Bart concluded. "Oh, I'm sorry. My brother is in town but not here with me, as you can see."

"And your cousin Beauregard? Named for your father, I presume."

"What? Oh yes, he was. Cousin Beau is also in town." Bart let his answer sink in for a moment and then inquired, "Should I have brought them with me?"

Foster shook his head. "Oh, not necessary today, not just yet. They'll need to be here to sign some papers, of course, but that can be done later." He kept looking at Bart, as if trying to remember where he'd seen him before. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be staring. It's just that your resemblance to Jessalyn is quite remarkable. Did you know that?"

"No, I had no idea. None of us even knew that we had an Aunt Jessie until a few days ago."

Foster again shook his head. "Really? Well, Miss Maverick certainly knew about the three of you. Say, there aren't any more of you, are there? Mavericks, I mean."

Bart laughed an uncomfortable laugh. "No, that's all. At least that we know of. Just the three of us."

"Just for clarification, Beauregard the younger is the son of Bentley Maverick, your uncle?"

Bart thought they'd cleared all this up. "Yes, he is."

"And you're certain that there are no more nephews out there?"

Bart was becoming a little annoyed. "I'm certain. Uncle Micah has no children, and there were only four in the family – Beauregard, Bentley, Micah and Jessalyn."

"Just needed to be positive. Jessalyn thought there were only three nephews but she hadn't been in contact with Micah in a long time."

"Does that mean she was in contact with my . . . . father?"

"According to her, yes."

"And Uncle Bentley?"

"Possibly."

Never once had either Pappy or Uncle Ben mentioned Jessalyn Maverick, by name or relation. Never once.

"Doesn't that seem rather odd? That we never knew she existed."

The attorney looked amused. "Oh no. You'd be surprised how many people have relatives that they've never heard of."

They sat in silence for a moment, Bart trying to understand the concept of having relatives you didn't know about. What had they missed by not knowing Aunt Jessie? What had she missed by not knowing them?

Finally Bart asked the obvious question. "What do we do now?"

"Well, Mr. Maverick, the will is already in probate. Miss Maverick left the house and all its belongings to Mr. Edgar Pike; and the saloon and all of its assets and debts to you three. As soon as probate is settled a new deed will be made out naming you, your brother Bret and cousin Beauregard as the new titleholders, each with 33 1/3 % ownership. Until that happens, there is the question of running the business on a day to day basis. I imagine that you and your family will want to assume proprietorship immediately. That can be arranged. There will be some papers to sign, as I told you earlier, but that is merely a formality. You can collect the keys to the property from Harry, he's the bartender. He was Jessie's oldest employee and the man she trusted more than anyone. Harry can guide you from there."

Bart's head was swimming in circles. He felt the way Beau must have after being hit last night. He waited for everything to sink in and then asked "Is there anything else I . . . . we should know?"

Hiram Foster considered this for a moment before answering. "I probably shouldn't share this with you, but I was Miss Maverick's attorney, and now yours, not Mr. Pike's. Ownership of 'The Three Mavericks' Saloon is being contested by Edgar Pike. He doesn't believe that you or any of your relatives have any right to the property and that it should belong solely to him. He's said so in public on many occasions. In fact I believe his direct quote was 'they should all burn in hell before I give up Jessie's baby.' I'm sorry to be so blunt about it but I thought you should be aware of his sentiments and intent."

There it was, right out in the open. Who indeed was on to them? Edgar Pike. And what was he looking for? That question Bart didn't have an answer to. Yet. Maybe Bret would after his visit with Pike.

"Thank you, Mr. Foster. You've been quite . . . . informative. We'll be in touch soon." Bart and Hiram Foster stood and shook hands. Bart put his hat back on and left the office. Hiram Foster had given him a lot to think about.

XXXXXXXX

Beau didn't have quite as much success with Lettie. It was daylight and Lettie wasn't getting paid to be nice to men who didn't want to drink with her. The only way that Beau could get her to sit down and talk to him was to buy another bottle. And pour drinks. For Lettie, of course. She had three in her before she would even smile at him. By number five Lettie was much more willing to tell him everything she knew. It wasn't much but it was helpful.

"Say, I thought you said your name was Mansfield." That was the most profound statement that Lettie had made to this point. Beau was slightly embarrassed but determined not to let it show. "I did. I apologize for that small deception, Lettie. But in reality I am a Maverick."

"Which one?" Lettie asked.

"Beau. Beauregard Maverick. In the flesh."

"One of the brothers or the cousin?" Lettie's questions were relentless.

"Cousin."

"And Bart, with you last night?"

"One of the brothers."

"And the other brother?"

Beau decided to keep 'the other brother's' identity under wraps for now. "He's here too."

"Was he in the saloon last night?"

"I don't know. I wasn't looking for him."

Lettie temporarily ran out of questions. Now it was Beau's turn. "Is this place always as busy as it was last night?"

"Oh sure," came back her quick response. "Nothin' much to do in this town but drink and gamble. Most 'a these cowpokes got nothin' better to do with their time or money." She gave a little laugh before continuing, "And they sure do like to spend both. This is the only place in town they can let off a little steam."

"Is that why you work here?"

Five drinks in her and she was suddenly sober as a judge. "No. My ma worked as a cook for Jessie when I was growin' up and she took real good care of us. I never wanted nothin' more than to spend time with Ma and Jessie, so after Ma passed it just seemed like a good thing to do. Jessie treated me like I was hers." There was sadness in Lettie's voice as she spoke of Jessie. "I sure do miss her. She was a real fine lady, no matter what anybody says."

Beau was startled by the declaration. Who thought his aunt wasn't a 'real fine lady?'

"Who thought badly of Aunt Jessie?" was his next question.

Lettie took her time in answering. "All them snooty church ladies." She looked Beau in the eyes and declared "Tweren't none of 'em knew her like we all did. If they'da ever been around her they'da known all the good things about her."

Beau reached over to pat Lettie's hand sympathetically. She was startled at his gentle touch. This wasn't the typical gambler that frequented the saloon. There was a sweetness and a grace about Beau Maverick that every woman who came in contact with him found appealing. Lettie began to fall under his spell. Last night she saw the resemblance that Bart Maverick had to his aunt and felt the physical attraction; today she sensed the tenderness that Jessie possessed evident in her other nephew.

"Tell me what you know about Edgar Pike."

The look of affection on Lettie's face quickly changed; it became hard and cold. "Not much to tell. Pike was always a different sort of fella. Kinda' shifty but nobody could ever catch him at anything. Not much ambition. Didn't do nothin' except help Jessie run the place. Never touched any of the girls." She paused and looked away wistfully. "One things for certain – he loved Miss Jessie with a passion. Never no doubt about that."

XXXXXXXX

Bret went to the livery and got a horse. The 'JP' Ranch was about 10 miles from town and it took him no time to get there. It was a pretty little place, well taken care of. A small house, a smaller barn, and no one in sight. Quiet and peaceful.

He knocked on the door and heard someone walk across the room to answer. When the door opened a short, stocky, white-haired man stood in front of him. He had a small beard and even smaller mustache and an unpleasant look on his face. "Yes?"

"Mr. Pike?"

"Yes?"

Bret stuck out his hand to Edgar Pike. "I'm Bret Maverick." Pike looked at him impassively and wouldn't shake hands. "One of Jessalyn Maverick's nephews?"

"I know who you are." Pike looked as if he had swallowed something unpleasant. He stood and glared at Bret without moving an inch. "What do you want?"

"Sorry if I disturbed you, Mr. Pike, but I'd like to talk to you." Pause. "About Aunt Jessie." Pause. "May I come in?"

Pike opened the door slightly and moved aside. He didn't say a word. Bret entered the room and the inside was as neat and well-kept as the outside. There was a small fireplace on the main wall and an extremely old photograph in a frame on the mantel. The photo appeared to be of a very young Maverick family – Beauregard, Bentley, Micah and a girl Bret assumed to be Jessie. There were two rocking chairs in front of the fire and the older man walked over to one and sat down. Bret followed him and took the other seat.

"Mr. Pike, I'd like you to know that my brother and cousin and I were very sorry to hear of Aunt Jessie's passing. You probably know that we weren't aware that she even existed until a few short weeks ago. That's why none of us ever came to visit."

Still Pike said nothing. After a short pause Bret continued. "We just learned of her and her will and came up here as soon as we could."

Pike snorted, a most disagreeable sound. "No doubt to claim your inheritance."

Bret worded his reply very carefully. "Not just that, Mr. Pike. We wanted to meet you and find out everything we could about the aunt we never knew we had."

Pike's look got even more unpleasant. "Hmmpf. What's there to know? She was a wonderful woman. I loved Jessie for more than 20 years and whatever her reasons were for not marrying me, she kept them to herself. Now she's gone. And the buzzards have arrived to pick the bones clean."

No misjudging Pike's attitude. The Mavericks were 'buzzards' to him, and from the tone of his voice nothing was going to change his feelings. Bret tried a different tactic.

"Is there anything you can share with me about Aunt Jessie's saloon?" Maybe talking about the business instead of Jessie would be easier for Pike to take.

"Yes. It should be mine. I helped her run the place and grow the business for all those years. I can't imagine what was in her head that made her think it was a good idea to give it to people she'd never even met."

Nope, better not go there either. It was becoming fairly obvious that Edgar Pike had no intention of co-operating with Jessie's nephews in any way, shape or form. Bret tried one more thing. He nodded his head toward the photograph.

"I've never seen a picture of Aunt Jessie. Do you mind?"

The expression on Pike's face seemed to momentarily soften, then grew cold again. "Suit yourself. Why Jessie kept it all these years is beyond me."

Bret stood up from the rocker and walked over to the mantel. He picked up the old, fading photo and stared at it for a long minute. Everyone in the picture seemed so young, Pappy and Uncle Ben and Uncle Micah. At the center of the picture was a beautiful young girl with dark hair and dark eyes. Bret was struck by how much Bart resembled the young Jessie. Maybe that explained some of the times that Bret caught Pappy looking sideways at his younger brother, as if seeing Jessie all over again. Bart would be surprised to know that he favored a relative none of them had ever laid eyes on. He gently replaced the photo on the mantel and turned back to the unpleasant little man. "Aunt Jessie's grave?"

"Out back," Pike growled. "Kept her here, where she loved it. Wasn't putting her in any high faluting graveyard where she could be mistreated and ignored." He looked at Bret with dislike bordering on loathing. "Why?"

What had he ever done to make this man he'd just met detest him so? "I'd like to visit her."

Pike seemed genuinely surprised by the statement. He rose from the rocker and indicated that Bret should follow him. They walked silently out the door and around to the back of the house, where there was a small fenced area that had become the makeshift graveyard. It held two graves, one much smaller than the other. Only the larger one had a marker of any kind. It read simply "Jessie, My Love." No dates, no last name. The small grave was untouched except for some wilted flowers that lay strewn across it. Bret looked at the marker and then down at Edgar Pike. There were tears in the old man's eyes. There was no doubt that Jessie had been his whole life.

Slowly his focus shifted to the smaller mound. Who or what was this? An old hound of some kind, one that was near and dear to Jessie's heart? Or something else – a baby or young child perhaps. Had Jessie and Edgar had a child? Bret was not about to ask Pike any questions at this point. He put his hat back on his head, looked down again at his 'uncle' and said quietly "Thank you." Then he walked back to the front of the house, mounted his horse and rode back to town.


	4. Chapter 4 Jody

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 4 – Jody

They made it much easier for her by staying out of their rooms. This time she was able to search the room that she'd tried to last night, the one where she'd hit the unknown Maverick over the head, without interruption. His clothes were packed far neater and more orderly than Bart Mavericks were. Of course, she didn't find anything of interest or value in his belongings, either. What she was looking for wasn't in either of the two rooms that she'd searched. That just left the room that belonged to the one with the black hair. And dimples. Mustn't forget those dimples. He appeared to be the oldest of the three. Maybe he had it, she decided. So she was off to one last round of 'breaking and entering'. She had to be successful.

The third room proved no harder to get into than the other two. But she didn't find what she was looking for there, either. Where was it? One of them must have it. Why couldn't she find it? She heard someone coming down the hall and crawled under the bed. It was dirty and cramped down there. A key turned in the lock and the door opened. She saw black boots walk by the bed and wondered how long she would be trapped. The next thing she knew the third Maverick had lain down on the bed and was softly breathing within minutes. She waited until she felt it was safe and crawled out from under the bed. On top of it was the room's occupant, the oldest Maverick brother. And he was sound asleep.

Honestly, the hours these three kept! How was a person expected to find anything when Mavericks were running all over the place at all hours of the day and night? She tiptoed quietly to the door and left the room, closing it gently behind her. Well, if they didn't have it with them, maybe they didn't have it. That didn't make sense to her. Jessie had sent it to somebody, who else was there beside these three? As she stood in the hall and pondered the question her mind wandered and she didn't hear footsteps approaching. By the time the alarms sounded in her head it was too late and he was on top of her. She looked up into the very deep brown eyes of Bart Maverick and caught her breath. He looked just like Jessie!

She hadn't paid too much attention to the man asleep in bed last night when she'd rummaged through his belongings. But now she looked at him closely and tried desperately to think of the reason for being in the hall outside one of his relative's rooms. The only things she could think of were the item she was searching for and how handsome this Bart fellow was. So when she heard him ask her "Can I help you with something, miss?" as he tipped his hat to her, she was at a complete loss for words.

"I . . . uh . . . I mean . . . . I uh . . . . " oh shoot_. 'When all else fails, faint!'_ she thought. And that's just what she did, right into his arms. He picked her up without any hesitation and carried her back down the hall to his room. He laid her gently on the bed and went over to the dresser for a face cloth. He came back to the bed and tenderly wiped her forehead and face with the damp cloth. "Miss? Miss? Miss, wake up." She slowly lifted her eyelids and there he was again, with a look of concern in those glorious brown eyes! "You fainted," he told her softly, as if she hadn't been aware of what happened. "Can I get you something? A glass of water?"

She just lay there, dumbstruck, and looked at him. _'Get your wits about you, Jody,'_ she thought. So he looks like Jessie. So what? "N . . . . no," she stammered.

"Were you looking for someone?" he asked.

She thought for a moment and had her answer ready. "Yes, I was looking for the new owner of 'The Three Mavericks' Saloon." She pushed the face cloth away and sat up. "That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"

He looked at her with amusement. "Maybe."

Okay, she had his attention. Now what? "Maybe yes or maybe no?"

"Why does it matter? What do you want with him?"

"I need to ask him . . . . . wait a minute. What if you're not him and I ask you anyway?"

Again, amusement in his eyes. "Then I'll know what you want to ask him."

Now he had her confused. "What?"

"That's what I was asking," he couldn't help but laugh when he said it. She was really making a mess of this. Everything would have been fine if she'd just heard him coming down the hall and scurried away. But she hadn't. And she still didn't know where it was.

Bart was having quite a time controlling his laughter. He was on his way to get cleaned up and change clothes when he saw her standing outside of Bret's door, looking confused. She was adorable. Absolutely tiny, with dark red hair and pale blue eyes, she looked to be maybe 19 or 20. She'd done the worst imitation of fainting that he'd ever seen and now he had her flustered. He looked at her hands. Little bitty hands. Yes, he was sure that this was the girl who'd been in his room last night. And there was no doubt in his mind that she was either going into Bret's room or just coming out. But what did she want?

While he sat and tried not to laugh at her, she calmed down enough to regain her composure. "Look, I'm sorry that I fainted. I was tired and hot and got mixed up in the hallway. I feel better now and I think I should leave." He had a bemused look still on his face and she said sternly, "A gentleman would never force a lady to stay in his room against her will."

His expression changed and became serious. "Yes, miss, you are absolutely right. The next time you faint make sure a gentleman catches you." He took her hand and helped her off the bed, then he steered her toward the door by her elbow. He held the door open and propelled her into the hall. "I hope you find the man you're looking for." He closed the door behind her.

XXXXXXXX

Bret slept the rest of the afternoon and woke up just as it was getting dark. With a minimum of effort he washed his face and put on fresh clothes and left his room when he heard someone coming down the hall. It was Beau. They walked to the dining room together, both ready for a little food and a lot of explanation. Bart was already there, drinking his customary cup of coffee and looking to all the world like a man harboring a secret.

"Well, boys, how were your naps?" he asked them as they sat down.

"Restorative," came Bret's reply. Beau just shook his head. "What nap?"

"Now Cousin Beau, you didn't spend the whole day with Lettie, did you?" Bart asked slyly.

"You have a filthy mind," Beau shot back. "Devious and dirty. No, I didn't spend the whole day with Lettie. Not that I would have objected." A small smile played around Beau's mouth. There was little doubt that Lettie was certainly willing. "As a matter of fact, I talked to most of the working girls in the establishment. Seems they all had a very high opinion of Jessie. And a very low one of Edgar."

Bart nodded in agreement. "Her attorney feels the same way."

"And I understand why," Bret interjected. "You didn't get to spend the morning with the charming Mr. Pike."

A different server than the one this morning came to take their order. Three steaks with all the trimmings, one medium, one rare and one well done. Their taste in women was similar; their taste in steak wasn't.

Beau began his narrative. "Almost every girl there has a similar story. Jessie collected all the strays that no one seemed to want and took them in. She gave the girls a home, a decent job and a living wage. She treated them well and never expected anything extra out of them. They all loved her. Edgar, not so much. He didn't try to 'get friendly' with any of the girls, but he kept track of every penny they owed Jessie and every favor ever done for them and made sure that everyone paid their own way. He expected every cowpoke that came in to be kept happy and spending money, no matter what the girls wanted. The customer always came first, and if a girl was sick or dead tired he expected her to work anyway. 'No Mercy' Pike is what they called him behind his back. Toward the end when Jessie was really sick he stopped coming in and hired a saloon manager to make sure that all the girls 'behaved' themselves. Harry almost quit after working for Jessie 12 years because of Pike. He suspects that the roulette wheel is rigged, or has been recently. And Pike has got him cutting the drinks with water."

"Sterling fella, huh?" asked Bart. He cut another piece of steak and put it in his mouth. "What I found out isn't any better. Pike thinks everything should be his and wants nothing more than to see us 'rotting in hell' rather than running the saloon. Foster told me that Harry has the keys and he could point us in the right direction to keep everything moving. Sounded like the sooner we took over day-to-day operations the better it would be for everyone."

"I can tell you why,." Bret volunteered. He finished the last of his meal and set down his fork. "I don't know what Edgar Pike was like before Jessie died, but right now he's a bitter, mean, lonely old man." He motioned the waitress over with an empty coffee cup. "Here's something else to consider. There's another grave where Jessie is buried."

All three Mavericks looked at each other. "Nobody said anything about a baby." That from Beau.

"Or a child," Bart added.

"That might explain some things like Jessie's need to be momma to all the girls, and Pike's bitterness about losing Jessie and their child." Bret reached inside his coat for a cigar. "Cousin Beau, I believe this meal is on you, is it not?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Beau asked.

"Oh, just the fact that I bought dinner last night and this morning was on Bart. Your turn to pay, Beauregard."

Beau grumbled, as usual, but reached for his wallet. "My lads, I feel the need to earn some money."

"Does that mean poker, cousin dear?" Bart inquired.

"Why yes, yes it does, Cousin Bart."

Bart had a skeptical look on his face. "Isn't that like taking money out of our own pockets?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

Bart thought for a moment and considered the options. Then he stood and shook his head. "No. No I don't. Let's go visit some of our money."

All three Maverick boys, each smoking a cigar, walked out of the hotel dining room and headed for the saloon.


	5. Chapter 5 Georgia on my Mind

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 5 – Georgia on my Mind

There was little difference between the crowd the previous night and the crowd tonight. Just as much noise. Just as much smoke. Just as many Mavericks. Only this time two of the three were paying poker and the third one was intently watching the roulette wheel.

It didn't take long for Bart to determine that there was something off at roulette. He watched the wheel spin and the ball drop into a numbered pocket again and again and finally thought he saw the problem. Harry was right, the game had been rigged so expertly that even Bart wasn't sure what was causing the ball to drop the way it did. But someone or something was definitely affecting each spin's outcome. Bart walked away from the wheel with a sour taste in his mouth.

Bret and Beau played poker at different tables. Bret had finally gotten a seat at one of the high stakes games and he kept a watchful eye on the house man that was doing the dealing. The first three or four hands seemed to go smoothly but there was a slight change in the way the cards started falling after that. Again, nothing blatant. No bottom or middle-of-the-deck dealing, no hideout cards, but rather he caught a subtle shaving of the deck, undetectable to all but the most knowledgeable of professionals. He had no problem winning once he discovered the marked cards and he more than made up for the previous night's paltry success.

Beau had no trouble with the cards. His biggest problem was Lettie. She seemed to have decided that he was her property and she wouldn't leave him alone. From constantly refilling his cup to simply hovering around him as he tried to concentrate on the cards was driving him to distraction. Just when he couldn't take any more Lettie saw Bart wandering around the saloon and decided to take a different approach. _'Thank goodness!' _Beau thought to himself. _'Let Cousin Bart deal with her for a while.'_

Beau would have been surprised to hear Lettie's conversation with Bart. She walked over as he was watching a game of seven card stud and slipped her arm through his. "Mr. Maverick, I'd really like to speak to you about your cousin."

Not having been particularly interested in the game, Bart turned his attention to Lettie. "Yes, Lettie, what do you need help with?"

"With Beau, I'm afraid." Her tone was petulant. "He just doesn't seem that interested in me. Did I do something wrong? Doesn't he like me?"

Bart saw the chance to make a little mischief and he couldn't resist. "Now Lettie, I know for a fact that Beauregard likes you a whole lot. Cousin Beau is just a very shy person. Why, he was all of 18 years old before he ever kissed his first girl. Don't you give up on him, he'll come around. Yes ma'am, you just keep paying attention to him and soon enough he'll pay attention right back." He smiled a big smile at her and slipped his arm away from hers. He tipped his hat to Lettie and walked to the bar, where he soon became involved in an intense conversation with Harry. Lettie smiled a 'cat-ate-the-canary' smile and returned to Beau's poker game.

Bret was up about $1,000 when a hush fell over the entire bar. Everyone's eyes turned to the swinging front doors as none other than Edgar Pike himself walked in. No one had seen Edgar in the saloon since Jessie took ill and all were surprised to see him now. He looked around the building until he saw Bret and strode over to him with his gun drawn. When he was ten feet away from the table he bellowed "Maverick!" at the top of his lungs. Bret kept playing poker and ignored him. "I said Maverick!" Edgar thundered again. Bret never looked away from his cards but answered "Yes, Mr. Pike? Did you want something?"

"I want you out of my saloon!" Pike demanded.

Bart had quietly left the bar and walked over to where Beau was sitting. He stood behind his cousin as they watched the unfolding drama play out.

Bret wasn't in any hurry to leave. He was winning. "I'm sorry, Mr. Pike, but I'm in the middle of a game. As my old Pappy used to say, 'Never leave a poker game in the middle of a winning hand.'"

Pike wasn't impressed. "I said get out of my saloon now!"

Bret remained unruffled. "I'll be happy to go as soon as this game is over."

Edgar walked over to the table, grabbed the edge of it, and flipped the entire table onto its side, scattering cards, coins and bills everywhere. "I said now, " he insisted.

Bret just smiled and looked up at Pike from his chair at a now upside down table. "Guess the games over." He stood up, towering over the little man with the gun pointed at him. Bret was weaponless. Everyone else at the table left their seat in a hurry and backed away from the confrontation. Pike continued to point his gun at Bret and cocked the trigger. "I'm unarmed, Mr. Pike," Bret pointed out. "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, would you?"

At the table across the room Beau started to go for his gun. Bart put his hand on Beau's arm and stopped him. "Sit still, Cousin Beau," Bart said quietly. Beau relaxed and released the gun. He wasn't about to let Bret get shot by this little tyrant. Bart nodded toward the bar. "Harry's got everything under control."

Indeed he did. Harry had a double barrel shotgun cocked and aimed right at Pike. He would be more than happy to use it. "Give it up, Mr. Pike," he told Edgar. "Mr. Maverick doesn't have a gun. Miss Jessie wouldn't be real happy to see you treatin' her nephew like that."

The remark seemed to knock all the wind out of Pike's sails. He uncocked the gun and put it back in its holster. "Get your money and get out."

Bret picked his wallet up off the floor and straightened back up. He smiled at Pike and walked right past him, straight to the door of the saloon. "I'll be back to claim what's mine," he told the crowd in general as he left through the swinging doors.

Beau relaxed and Bart let go of his cousin's arm. Lettie let out a big sigh of relief and looked at Beau and Bart. "Maybe you two better go before he finds out you're Mavericks too." The cousins exchanged glances and Bart nodded In agreement. "I think she's right, Cousin Beau."

Beau picked up his money and told the other poker players, "Gentlemen, It's time to take my leave. You have a good night." He stood up and said to Bart "I feel the need for a smoke." Bart handed Beau a cigar and answered "That's funny. So do I." He turned and left the saloon with Beau right on his heels. They both walked across the street to the hotel, lighting up as they went.

"A little touchy in there." Beau was stating the obvious. "I wonder what Bret said to Pike this morning that got him so riled up?"

"I get the feeling it didn't have to be much," Bart replied. Then he brightened considerably. "Maybe it was just his charming personality that set our 'Uncle Edgar' off." They walked into the hotel lobby. No sign of Bret. Bart went over to the desk clerk and asked, "Did Mr. Maverick go up to his room?"

"No sir, he didn't," answered the clerk. "Say, I thought his name was Mansfield?"

"Maverick, Mansfield, we get confused sometimes," Beau informed the clerk. "Did you see him at all this evening?"

"Yes sir, he came in and started up the stairs like he was going to his room, then Jody caught him and they talked for a minute. Then they went back outside together."

"Jody?" Bart's ears perked up. Maybe Jody was their unknown burglar. "Jody who?"

"Why, Jody Mayfield. Georgia Mayfield's daughter. Georgia was Jessie Maverick's best friend in the whole world."

Bart held his hand out, barely five feet off the ground. "Little bitty thing 'bout this big, dark red hair, blue eyes? Pretty girl?"

The clerk grinned. "Yep, that's Jody alright. She had hold 'a Mr. Maverick's hand like she was never lettin' go. Drug him right outta' here behind her. Saw them head on down the street, towards her mama's house. Third house on the left, little picket fence, blue door. Looked like she was in a big hurry to get there."

"Thanks." Bart and Beau turned around and went back out into the street. "Cousin Bart, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Well Cousin Beau, I suspect I am. Miss Jody is no doubt our burglar. Think we should go see just what Brother Bret has gotten himself into now?"

"I think we should," Beau answered him. "Just because he can get out of trouble when a man has a gun pointed at him doesn't mean he can get out of trouble when a little girl drags him away. Besides, I have a lump I'd like to discuss with her."

Bart laughed and they headed off down the street, toward Georgia Mayfield's house.

XXXXXXXX

Georgia poured Bret a cup of coffee as they sat in her small house. She didn't know what Jody was up to when she went out earlier; she hadn't learned of the plan until Jody returned home, dragging Mr. Maverick with her through the front door. After many apologies she offered to make a fresh pot of coffee and Bret accepted politely.

Georgia was a handsome woman, tall and dark haired, with a patrician face and an elegant manner about her. Jody hadn't told Bret much besides the fact that her mother was Aunt Jessie's best friend and might be able to provide him with some useful information. So he went with her voluntarily, back to the house that she had grown up in. Now as he sat and listened to Georgia talk it became clear why she and Jessie had been friends. Georgia was bright, cultured and warm. She made Bret feel at home as soon as Jody brought him in the house. She had a lot to tell him about Jessie's arrival in Silver Creek over 25 years ago. How she'd been lost and lonely at first, until she and Georgia became friends and partners and decided to buy an old building and open 'The Three Maverick's Saloon.' They started out small and kept pouring any profits they made back into the business. It gradually turned into the place it was today.

Georgia met a handsome man named Holt Mayfield when he came to town to open a newspaper. They fell in love and got married and had Jody three years later. Holt had been killed in an avalanche two years ago and Georgia traded their ranch for the small house in town. She sold her half of the saloon to Jessie when she and Holt married but Jessie had persuaded her to come back after she lost Holt. When Jessie became so ill that she couldn't run the place any longer, Georgia took over the day-to-day operations until Edgar decided he wanted 'his own man' running things. Since Georgia didn't legally own the saloon she had no choice but to accede to Pike's wishes. She hadn't made any attempt to go back to there after Jessie died. She missed her friend terribly, and she missed the saloon.

Bret listened to her without interruption. It was obvious from the way Georgia spoke about Jessie there was a deep and abiding love between the two friends. He felt disappointed that he'd never even gotten to meet Jessalyn Maverick.

Just as Georgia finished her story to Bret there was a knock at the door. Georgia excused herself and went to answer it. When she opened the door, there stood Bart and Beau. "Mrs. Mayfield?" asked Bart politely as he removed his hat.

"Yes," she answered. "You must be the other Maverick boys. Please come in."

Both men entered the room and Bart responded when he saw Bret. "Yes ma'am, I'm Bart, his brother, and this is our Cousin Beauregard." Beau smiled and removed his hat. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am," he said as he kissed her hand. They both moved into the room and politely waited for Georgia to sit down before taking the seats she indicated. She offered them coffee but both had enough for one day and respectfully declined.

"Brother Bret, we heard about your little visit from the desk clerk at the hotel. We thought we better see if there was anything that you needed help with." A bemused smile played about Bart's face. He wondered just where Jody was since she wasn't in the room. He wanted to make sure that it was she who fainted into his arms that afternoon.

"No, I think I've got it all under control, Bart. I can tell you everything that Mrs. Mayfield told me later."

Georgia Mayfield blushed slightly and looked straight at Bart. "You're the spitting image of Jessie, you know."

That remark caused Bart to pause and catch his breath. "No ma'am, I had no idea. We've never seen a photo of Jessie."

"Oh, I did, today, out at Pike's ranch," Bret interjected. "But it was a picture of Pappy, Uncle Ben, Uncle Micah and Aunt Jessie when they were very young. Too young to see any great resemblance."

"I have a photo of Jessie and me taken not long after we started the saloon. Would you all like to see it?"

Bret and Bart nodded their heads vigorously and Beau said "Yes ma'am." At last they would know what their Aunt looked like. Georgia excused herself and went into the other room.

"Where's Jody?" Bart asked his brother.

"Don't know," Bret responded. "Haven't seen her since we got here. Why are you so interested?"

Bart didn't hesitate but kept his voice low. "Because I think Jody is our burglar."

Bret raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything further as Georgia returned. In her hands was an old photo, yellowed with age but still quite clear. Side by side under the original sign that read 'The Three Mavericks Saloon' stood a much younger version of Georgia Mayfield and Jessalyn Maverick. Bret looked at it and shook his head, then passed it to Bart. Bart took a long look at the picture and tightened his grip on it. It was almost like looking in a mirror. Except for the fact that Jessie's eyes were lighter than Bart's, which were a deep, rich brown. Finally, there was someone in the family that he resembled.

That always bothered Bart. Bret was a 30 years younger version of Pappy and Beau reminded everyone of his mother Abigail. Bart looked more like a stranger in town than any of his relatives, save a small bit of similarity to Bret. Where had he come from? Was there really Maverick blood in his veins? No more wondering; there was no doubt that he was a Maverick. He was awash with relief; even though he knew that Beauregard and Belle were his parents he sometimes felt like an outsider. He loosened his grip on the photo and passed it on to Beau.

'_So that was Aunt Jessie'_ Beau marveled to himself. _'Bart certainly does look like her._' Beau had experienced feelings similar to Bart's; the entire Maverick clan was dark haired and he was blonde. When they were all together he stood out like a sore thumb. At least his father had assured him how much he looked like his mother. Bart had never received any of those reassurances. Certainly now he would have no doubts. Maybe that would help his cousin feel less like he didn't belong in the family.

"Pretty woman," Beau remarked as he handed the photo back to Georgia. "It's good to be able to put a face with everything we've been hearing about Aunt Jessie. And she sure does look like Bart."

Georgia laughed at the last remark. "It's funny, Jessie always said she looked like someone gave birth to her and dumped her off with the Mavericks. She never felt like she really belonged in the family." She saw the glint of recognition and acknowledgement in Bart's eyes and she smiled at him.

"We've kept you way too long," Bret said as he stood up. "But there are probably a lot of things we'd still like to know. May we come back and visit again?"

They were like eager schoolboys waiting for a favorite teacher to reply. All three Mavericks looked at Georgia closely until she answered them in the affirmative.

"Please give our best to Miss Jody," Beau requested. "And tell her we would be delighted if she would join us the next time." He still wanted to talk to Jody about the bruise she inflicted on him.

They said their 'good-byes' and left the house. Georgia watched them go down the front steps and head back up the street towards the hotel. She shook her head and chuckled to herself_. 'Jessie would have been so overjoyed to meet them all. They could have reminded her what it meant to be a Maverick rather than a no-good Pike.' _She turned and went back inside, closing the door behind her. "Jody," she called out. "Where are you child?"


	6. Chapter 6 Rain and Bullets

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 6 – Rain and Bullets

The next morning was cloudy and drizzling rain. A terrible day to be awake so early, but that was the price one paid for actually sleeping at night rather than playing poker. "Who turned off the sun?" was the first thing Bart asked when he looked out the hotel windows.

"No human should be awake this early," was Bret's only comment as they went in to breakfast. "No human is awake this early," was his brother's reply. Beau just shook his head and kept walking.

When they reached the dining room they found yesterday's waitress had a table set up for them, again in the back. And their coffee was waiting. "Have we been here too long already?" Beau asked.

"Only if your name is Edgar Pike." Bret's words were dead serious. "Mr. Pike owes me some money."

"Mr. Pike probably owes a lot of people some money. That roulette wheel is as crooked as Edgar."

"How about that table you played at, Beau? How was your dealer?"

Beau took a sip of coffee before he answered. "Not too bad. Just dealt off the bottom five or six times."

Bart shook his head. "From everything we've heard, Jessie and Georgia ran an honest establishment. This is all Pike's doing."

Bret nodded. "Yep, since Jessie got sick and he ran Georgia out, the place is headed downhill. By none other than our dear uncle." He stopped talking while breakfast arrived. It did his heart good for once to see that Bart was actually going to eat something besides toast. There was a little bit of a swagger in Bart's walk this morning; maybe finally seeing a family member that he resembled had done him some good. Bret was well aware of his brother's insecurities. He was the one in the family who had taken their mother's death the hardest. Maybe because he depended on Belle Maverick the most.

Beau spoke up as he finished the last of his coffee and waved the waitress away. "I think it's time we go get the keys from Harry and start earning our keep." They all agreed.

With full stomachs they made their way towards the saloon. Harry was already there, sweeping off what passed for a sidewalk in front. "Morning, gents. Awful early for Mavericks to be outside, ain't it?"

"That it is, Harry. That's what happens when you get invited to leave a saloon early." There was a lightness in Bret's words but not his meaning. Harry held the swinging doors open and all four of them went inside. The bartender walked behind the long mahogany bar and retrieved the saloon keys. "Who wants these?" he asked.

"Give them to Bart," Bret answered. "He's the only one that's ever tried to buy into a saloon."

"Try not to hold that against me, would ya?" On more than one occasion Bart had been on the verge of going 'partners' with someone in a gambling establishment, only to have the deal fall through for one reason or another. Nevertheless, he took the keys from Harry and pocketed them.

"I suppose you'll be wantin' to get a new bartender?" Harry asked with a tone of regret in his voice.

"No, sir," Beau spoke up quickly. "As a matter of fact, as of right now you are in charge of the bar and all the liquor. You sell what they drink and pour them honest. No more watered down anything."

Harry's countenance brightened considerably. "Praise the Lord, just not in here," he said.

"And there'll be a raise coming with that," Bret added. "You just keep that double barreled beauty loaded and ready."

All three had made a friend for life. "Office upstairs, Mister Bart," Harry offered. "Keys on the ring."

"Thanks, Harry." Bart started upstairs, then turned back to Harry. "When do the ladies start coming in?"

"Oh, usually around eleven. Not too much call for them before that."

A nod of the head followed. "Fine. Sure they don't like getttin' up any more than we do." He shifted his attention to Bret and Beau. "You coming?"

"Go ahead," Beau answered. "I really want to walk the place."

Bart headed for the staircase to the office and Bret followed. Beau really hadn't gotten to see much of the saloon in the two nights he'd been there and he wanted to get a better idea of the size and layout of the establishment. He walked the perimeter and found the girls dressing area, with a nice heavy locking door to protect them from unwanted cowpoke eyes. There was a large backroom storage space that was stacked tall with bottles of all shapes and sizes, and a tiny office with a locked door marked 'Manager.' That had probably been Georgia's office until Pike replaced her. If they were lucky they could get Georgia to come back to Jessie's saloon.

Beau took a closer look at the tables and chairs in the place. For a saloon that regularly put up with rowdy cowpokes and repeatedly occurring bar fights all the furnishings seemed to be in pretty good shape. They probably had a different roulette wheel somewhere, since the one they were using currently had been tampered with. Beau's only real complaint was that the stage seemed rather small and cramped; if you didn't keep the customers entertained they found someplace else to go. That could be fixed.

He made the circuit and returned to the bar, where Harry was polishing the wood grain. "Looks good, Harry."

Harry's curt reply: "That's because Edgar didn't have it long enough to destroy it." Then he apologized to Beau. 'Sorry for the tone. Miz Jessie spent so much of her time and effort to make this a real home for the ladies and a place she could be proud of. Her and Miz Georgia worked real hard, and it was all gonna be for nothin' after Edgar got through with it."

Beau nodded his head in agreement with Harry. "Don't have much good to say about Uncle Pike, do you?"

"Nope," came the swift reply.

XXXXXXXX

Bart had begun to dig into the office upstairs while Bret looked around. A picture of Edgar sat on Jessie's desk, with a picture of Jody Mayfield next to it_. 'Strange,'_ thought Bart. _'Why a picture of Jody instead of Georgia and Jody?' _He said nothing to Bret.

There was the usual junk and clutter in the desk, nothing out of the ordinary until he found Jessie's ledger books. Once he took a good look at those he whistled softly. Bret turned and asked "What?"

"No wonder Uncle Edgar is so determined to get hold of 'The Three Mavericks.' This place is making a tidy profit. I'm surprised he didn't shoot you last night, Brother Bret, while he had the chance. Then he'd only have to eliminate me and Beau in order to own the whole thing!"

"Don't give him any ideas," Bret interjected. "Not much I'd put past him at this point."

"No, probably not," Bart agreed. "I think we need to get Georgia Mayfield back in here as soon as possible so that we know we can believe what we read in these ledgers. Everything looks pretty straight forward until about three weeks ago when Edgar's man took over. I don't trust anything he recorded."

Bret was staring at the picture of Jody Mayfield. "Hmm? Oh no, I agree. Let's go pay Mrs. Mayfield another visit. Offer her back the position of manager. Get rid of Pike's man and start getting this place in shape." _'Besides,_' Bret thought, _'I've got some questions for Jody.'_

Bart put the ledger back in the drawer and locked it. He and Bret left the office and went back downstairs to find Beau attempting to explain to Edgar Pike's 'manager' that he was no longer employed. "As of when?" asked the now former manager, whose name was Virgil McLaren. "As of right now," answered Beau.

"I have personal belongings in my office," Virgil declared.

"Fine. Follow me and we'll get them." Bart handed Beau the keys and Beau led the way. He stood in the doorway of the office while Virgil collected his property, then locked it behind them on leaving. McLaren wasn't at all happy and let all three Mavericks know it in no uncertain terms. His parting remark was "You'll never get away with this. Edgar will fight you tooth and nail for this place. It belongs to him."

"I believe that's up to the courts to decide, Mr. McLaren," Beau countered. "We have been advised by legal counsel that the property now belongs to us. If Mr. Pike intends to argue against that position he can do so before a judge. You are more than welcome to inform Mr. Pike that we shall see him in court." With that, Virgil McLaren took his possessions and left the saloon.

"Now you've gone and done it," Bret informed Beau. "Dear Uncle Edgar will no doubt be looking for you to blow a hole through next. Maybe you better go back to the hotel and lay low for a while."

Beau yawned; he was more than ready to go back to sleep. "Not a bad idea, Cousin Bret. I think I shall avail myself of the services of my bed for a while longer. I shall see you both later in the day. Make sure you stay out of trouble, my lads."

With that, Beau took his leave. Bart and Bret were left standing at the bar, laughing. "Is he always like that?" Harry inquired.

"Oh no," Bart answered. "Most of the time he's worse." He turned to Bret. "Ready?"

"Ready," answered the older brother. "We'll be back later, Harry."

"Yes, sir," answered Harry. "I'll be right here." The brothers left the saloon and headed back towards Georgia Mayfield's house. About halfway there Bart spotted Hiram Foster coming towards them in a buggy and waved him down. Foster pulled the buggy over to talk to them.

"Mr. Foster, I'd like you to meet one of the other two Mavericks, my brother Bret. Bret, this is Hiram Foster, Aunt Jessie's attorney."

Bret nodded a greeting to the older man. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Foster."

"My pleasure, Mr. Maverick. Your attorney, too. Have you taken possession of the saloon yet?"

Bart rattled the keys for the attorney's benefit, but Bret did the answering. "Just this morning, Mr. Foster. We're on our way to Mrs. Mayfield's house to persuade her to come back and manage the place."

"My boy, I think that is a capital idea. Georgia Mayfield will do everything she can for you. A word of caution is in order, however – Edgar Pike has already let it be known around town that he intends to regain ownership of 'The Three Mavericks,' by whatever means necessary. Stay vigilant. Trust no one that you haven't already met. There are a lot of good people in this town and this valley, but Edgar is not one of them. He'll do whatever it takes to get what he wants, and that includes murder." Foster looked at Bart and Bret, and they exchanged glances. All the cards were on the table.

"Thanks for the warning, Mr. Foster. We'll be careful." Foster urged his horse forward. The buggy swerved back into the street and the brothers continued toward Mrs. Mayfield's. "We're in this up to our eyeballs, Brother Bart. Are you sure?" Bret asked quietly.

"I'm sure," Bart answered. "And so was Aunt Jessie. That's why she didn't leave the saloon to him."

"Mmhmm. That thought had crossed my mind. Well then, all we need to do this morning is hire a new manager and keep from getting killed. Doesn't seem like such a tall order."

"Been in tighter spots before."

"That we have. At least we're all together in this. I'm glad of that. Wouldn't be near as much fun without Beau."

Bart laughed at the thought of them all in this venture. "As long as it's Cousin Beau that keeps getting hit on the head and not us."

They walked on to Georgia Mayfield's.

XXXXXXXX

It didn't take much persuading to convince Georgia to return to the business. She was more than willing to have a reason to leave her house on a daily basis, especially since it meant taking 'Jessie's baby' away from Edgar Pike. She agreed to return to the saloon with them and take a look at the business ledgers that very day. Once again Jody was nowhere to be seen; Bret would have to hold his questions until later.

The three of them left the house and headed back to the saloon. The town was awake now, and people bustled back and forth between businesses. The street was filled with horses and wagons coming and going, so filled that none of them noticed the rider on the gray gelding that seemed to be following them. Bret and Bart were occupied listening to Georgia's ideas on how to increase business and begin rebuilding the saloon's reputation for being an honest gambling hall and weren't paying any attention to the street traffic. Just before reaching the saloon doors the rider suddenly spurred his horse forward and approached them at a gallop. As he rode past the trio a hail of gunshots filled the air. Bret and Bart hit the sidewalk and pulled Georgia to the ground with them, Bret doing his best to protect her from any stray bullets while Bart pulled his gun and returned fire. The rider galloped off and was quickly out of sight. Bart holstered his gun and got up while Bret helped Georgia to her feet. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, " she answered. She looked from Bret to Bart and back again. "He didn't waste any time, did he?"

Bart brushed himself off and turned his attention back to Georgia. "Sorry we got you mixed up in this mess. Maybe you should reconsider the job. It would be safer that way."

Her head nodded vigorously. "There's no being safe as long as Edgar Pike is around. And you didn't get me mixed up in anything. Jessie was my friend and she never would have stood for Edgar's greediness."

Bret ushered Georgia inside. Harry was standing at the window, the double barrel shotgun ready. "Everyone ok?"

Bret escorted Georgia over to a table and pulled out a chair for her. "We're fine, Harry. It wasn't meant to be anything more than a warning. Bring Mrs. Mayfield some coffee, would you?" Georgia laughed and turned to Harry. "Make it whiskey, Harry. I haven't been shot at for a while."

The brothers looked at each other and smiled. Georgia Mayfield was tougher than she looked. "What's next?" Bret asked.

Georgia drank the shot that Harry poured her and set her glass down on the table. "One of you help me bring the ledgers back down to the office, please?" Georgia stood up and Bart gave her his arm. He escorted her up the stairs and unlocked the door, then held it open for her. She went straight for Jessie's desk, took her own key out of her purse and unlocked the drawer the ledgers were in. She glanced at the picture of Jody and a smile danced around her mouth. Bart saw the glance and interrupted her thoughts. "Aunt Jessie must have really loved Jody."

Georgia nodded assent. "She did. A lot. She was Jody's godmother."

"Is that why the picture was just Jody and not you and your daughter?"

There was a split-second worth of hesitation before Georgia answered. "She always loved that picture of Jody." She continued to look at the photo and didn't notice the look on Bart's face change.

"Was it difficult for Aunt Jessie?"

"What?"

"Watching you get married and have a daughter when she didn't?"

Again that split-second hesitation. "No. If she had wanted to marry Edgar she would have."

Bart dared to approach unknown territory "Is that their child in the grave next to Jessie's?"

Georgia's head snapped up sharply. "How do you know about that?"

"Bret went to Edgar's ranch and visited the grave where Aunt Jessie was buried."

Georgia's answer was cold. "Jessie went through a lot. Not the least of which was her conflict with Edgar over that child." She sounded as if there was something more to say, then changed her mind. Bart started to ask her who or what was buried next to Jessie but Bret walked in the office. "Need some help?"

Georgia replied curtly "No." Bret sensed that he'd walked in on something already in progress and made a hasty exit. Bart was hesitant to pursue the issue any further, given the hostility he heard in Georgia's answer. Instead he picked the ledgers up from the desk, along with the picture of Jody, and carried them out of Jessie's office and down to Georgia's. By the time they arrived Georgia was smiling again. "I'm sorry. Jessie and Edgar not having children was a sore point between the two of them and I was put in the middle a lot, especially after Jody was born. I don't like to remember it."

Bart wondered if that was all there was to it. He wasn't going to push any harder at this point; whatever had been left unsaid when Bret walked in on the conversation would wait until later. He left Georgia in the manager's office and returned to the bar and Bret.

The elder Maverick and the bartender were talking very quietly. Several of the saloon girls had come in and there were even two or three trail hands sitting at a table drinking. Bart sent Harry over to the table with a 'drink on the house.' Bret looked at Bart and shook his head.

"A natural born businessman," he murmured. "You know what Pappy would say about giving away free liquor."

"Yes," replied Bart. "Don't do it."

"Exactly." Bret turned serious. "Did I walk in on something upstairs?"

"Just doing a little detective work."

"About Jody?"

Bret's mind was working the same way as Bart's. "In a round-about way."

"Tread lightly, Brother Bart, I get the feeling that's a touchy subject."

"You are so right, Brother Bret."

They stood at the bar in silence for a few minutes, Bret in front of it, Bart behind. Something about standing behind the bar felt very natural to Bart. He wondered where that came from, since he had little or no interest in alcohol. Maybe he just liked being the man in charge. Not responsible, just in charge.

Finally Bret spoke. "I think it's time the whole family paid Mr. Pike a visit."

They stood in silence a moment longer, then Bart answered. "Let's go get Cousin Beau."


	7. Chapter 7 Mr Pike's War

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 7 – Mr. Pike's War

Bart went to get Beau while Bret went to get horses. It was easier and faster to procure three mounts than to rouse Beauregard Maverick from his sleep. By the time Bart managed to wake Beau and get him dressed, Bret had been waiting in front of the hotel for almost half an hour. Finally they were mounted and on the road.

Since Bret had been to the JP Ranch previously he led the way. Where before the road led right to the ranch house, now there was a large fence with a gate blocking their path. And a posted sign that read: "**Trespassers Keep Out - You Will be SHOT ON SIGHT**." They pulled their horses up and looked at each other.

"We can't be trespassers," Bart reasoned. "We're kin."

"No, we're not," Bret stated. "We're Jessie's kin, not Pike's."

"I don't know about you two," Beau rejoined. "All I see is '**SHOT ON SIGHT**.' That's enough for me."

"Are you gonna' let a little sign scare you off?" Bart was indignant.

"I don't see anything little about '**SHOT ON SIGHT**.' The words look plenty big to me."

When they were kids, Bart would have stuck his tongue out at his cousin. Now he just looked at Beau and shook his head. Bret reached down from his horse to unlatch the newly built gate. Then he rode on through, not bothering to see if Bart and Beau were following him or not. Sometimes one or the other of them carried the cowardly act just a bit too far, and this was one of those times. It didn't take long to determine that they were still with him.

They rode on to the house. Everything was as still and quiet as it had been on his first visit. Bret dismounted and knocked on the door. Bart and Beau stayed on their horses with their guns drawn, just in case. There was no answer. Bret knocked again. "Mr. Pike, it's the Mavericks. We need to talk." Still no answer. Bret handed his horses reins to Bart and walked around the back of the place. The little graveyard looked the same as before, nothing had changed. There was no sign of any human being or animal anywhere.

Bret walked back to the front, took the reins from Bart and remounted. "Guess we made a trip for nothing." They rode back to town in silence, each formulating a plan for their next move. Bart went to send a telegram to Pappy. Bret went to talk to the sheriff. Beau went back to the saloon to check on Georgia and make sure there had been no trouble in their absence.

Bart's telegram to Pappy read:

Pike threatening to sue.

Something not right.

Anything you didn't tell us?

Bart

It was a desperate attempt to gather any information available. Something was going on here that Bart didn't understand, and he could only hope that Pappy might be able to shed some light on the situation. It seemed reasonable to assume that they hadn't heard the whole story from Pappy and Uncle Ben, given the years that they kept Jessalyn a secret from their sons. He left the telegraph office and headed back to the saloon.

Bret didn't have any more luck with the sheriff, who already knew most of what was going on. The only bit of information he could give Bret that the Mavericks didn't already have was that Edgar Pike had left town last night on the train to Denver. He went alone and didn't tell anyone why he was going or when he would return. Once Bret was sure that the sheriff had nothing further to share with him, he made his way back to the hotel.

Beau walked in the swinging doors to 'The Three Mavericks' and found the place about half full, a respectable amount of business for late afternoon. Georgia had gotten the roulette wheel replaced and the croupier had a small group gathered around the table. There were two poker games going and Lettie was sitting on the bar talking to one of the ranch foremen. She winked at Beau and smiled. He smiled back. He walked to the Manager's office and found Georgia busily checking ledger entries for the past week. She was glad to see him and asked what happened at Pike's ranch.

"Nothing," Beau told her. "He wasn't there. We need a new plan." He paused for a moment. "Actually, we need a plan."

"Hiram Foster came by to see Bart. Said he had something important to tell him. Said he'd be at his office until 5 o'clock and if Bart got back to send him over. Is he at the hotel?"

"No, he went to send a telegram to Uncle Beauregard. He should be here any minute. Foster didn't leave any kind of message?"

Georgia shook her head no. "Just wanted Bart to come over."

Beau nodded and asked Georgia, "Do you want me to walk you home? You've done enough for one day."

"That would be very nice. Thank you." She got up and locked the ledgers in her desk. Both of them left the office and Georgia closed the door behind her. Just as they were about to leave the saloon Bart walked in. Georgia told him about Hiram Foster's visit and Bart pulled out his watch and looked at the time. 4:30 p.m. He turned around and walked back out the swinging doors with them. Beau and Georgia turned left, down the street towards the Mayfield house. Bart turned right, up the street towards the attorney's office. He started across the street to the other side and just as he did so a shot rang out. It came from the direction that Beau and Georgia were headed, the second time today that shots had been fired at the Mavericks. Or was it? As Bart took off running towards his cousin and saloon manager the thought raced through his mind that both times Georgia Mayfield had been involved in the incident. Perhaps she was the target. But why?

Beau had immediately pushed Georgia into a doorway, stepped in front of her and pulled his gun. No one. And no further shots. Another warning, perhaps? He turned to Georgia, who was visibly shaken. "Twice in one day?"

Bart came running up, gun drawn. "Did you see anything?"

Beau shook his head 'no.' He looked right at Georgia and asked "Anyone mad at you?"

There was a truly perplexed look on their manager's face. "No." Everything remained quiet for a few minutes and Beau holstered his gun. He looked at Bart, who slowly holstered his. "Better get back up to Foster's office before he leaves. We're headed for the house."

"Yup." Bart turned back up the street. If he hurried he could still catch the attorney.

XXXXXXXX

Hiram Foster was waiting for Bart when he got to the attorney's office. "I heard the gunshot and wondered who was shooting. I came out to the front of the office but couldn't see anything. Anyone hurt?"

"No, probably just a warning. Don't know if they were shooting at my cousin or Mrs. Mayfield. Anyone holding a grudge against her?"

Foster looked incredulous. "Against Georgia Mayfield? Are you serious? The only person to ever say a bad word about Georgia was Edgar Pike, and he's in Denver. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Come back to my office."

Bart followed Hiram down the hall. Once inside the office, Hiram closed the door behind him and they both sat down. Attorney Foster wasted no time. "I got a telegram from Jeffrey Gladstone this afternoon. That's Mr. Pike's attorney in Denver. Edgar has filed a lawsuit against all three of you, claiming common-law marital status with Jessie and derivative ownership of 'The Three Mavericks.' He is asking that a judge put an immediate halt to your assumption of the day-to-day operations of the saloon."

They sat in silence for a moment while Bart digested this news. "What are the chances of the judge ruling in his favor? About the day-to-day operations, that is?"

A self-assured look came over Foster's face. "Very slim. At best. The will deeding the three of you outright ownership has already been approved by the probate court and all the legal technicalities of that decision are in process. I can't imagine any judge overturning their ruling based on any existing evidence. His lawsuit against you may proceed, but he almost certainly can't force you out of currently running the business. At least not legally."

Good. At least officially they were on solid ground. "Thank you, Mr. Foster. You've been very helpful." Bart paused. "And informative. My family and I much appreciate your counsel." Bart stood to go and shook Foster's hand. "Is there anything that we should or shouldn't do in the meantime?"

"Nothing that I can think of. I'll have my clerk bring the papers for the lawsuit to you at the hotel once I've received them." Foster paused, then added with a chuckle, "Try not to get shot."

Bart shook his head but didn't laugh. "We'll try." He left Hiram Foster's and headed up the street, back to the hotel. It had been a long day and he was worn out. Time to rest and do nothing for a while.


	8. Chapter 8 Down the Rabbit Hole

Jessie Maverick's Kin

**WARNING – THIS CHAPTER HAS VIOLENCE IN IT**

Chapter 8 – Down the Rabbit Hole

Beau stayed at Georgia's house that evening for dinner. It had been a while since he'd had a good meal cooked by anyone other than Lily Mae and Georgia knew her way around food. The company was charming and the conversation pleasant; they talked mostly about Jessie and Georgia's adventures with the saloon and Beau's years in England. Jody appeared when they were almost finished and Beau finally got to meet her, face to face. Bart was right, she was a tiny little thing and cute as all get out. She fervently denied any and all knowledge of the lump on Beau's head and being in their rooms at the hotel. Beau saw the look that passed between mother and daughter and knew that it was best not to pursue the subject at this time. Later, when he could speak to Jody alone, he would hear the real story behind the search.

When the clock on the mantel chimed 9 o'clock Beau got up to leave. It had been a wonderful evening and he thanked Georgia most sincerely for such a pleasant time. She rose with him and took both his hands in hers. "I should be thanking you, Beau, for asking me to come back to the saloon. You and Bart and Bret. It's been a while since I've felt this good. Since before Jessie died." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then blushed. "Thank your cousins for me, please?"

Beau nodded. "Yes ma'am, I will. And thank you for being willing to stand in the middle of this mess with us. Your support and help means a lot." He tipped his hat, said his good-byes to Jody and left. He lit a cigar as he made his way back up the street to the saloon, which seemed to be as lively as ever. Beau once again walked through the swinging doors and over to the bar. Harry started for the coffee pot and Beau waved him off, laughing and good-naturedly telling the bartender, "You take care of the paying customers. I can pour my own drinks."

Bret had taken over dealing at the high stakes table and everyone there was laughing. New card decks replaced the shaved ones, and all dealers were told to play fair and square, no cheating for or against the house. Beau didn't know if the profits would be as good but the clientele would be a lot happier to know they were getting an honest deal. He looked around the saloon but didn't see Bart anywhere. Maybe he was upstairs in the office. Just as Beau was about to head upstairs Lettie appeared at his elbow.

"Hi gorgeous," she purred to him. "Glad to see you finally arrived."

"I was busy." Beau was in no mood to deal with Lettie tonight. Any other time he would have welcomed the brunette's attention, but at the moment he had too much on his mind. He side-stepped Lettie as she reached out for his arm and kept walking, over to Bret's table.

"Cousin Beau, nice to see you could join us. Do you want to play?"

"Not just yet, Cousin. Have you seen Bart anywhere?"

Bret shuffled the deck in his hands. "Nope, haven't been here too long myself. Maybe he's upstairs."

"That's where I was headed." Beau turned and walked the length of the saloon, to the long staircase that led to the upstairs offices. He climbed them and went to the main office but the door was locked. He knocked and called "Cousin Bart, are you in there?" but got no answer. Beau tried the other two doors and found they were locked, also. Where was Bart?

The upstairs railing allowed a great view of the whole saloon floor. Beau scanned it but didn't see Bart anywhere. Could he be back at the hotel? He decided it wasn't worth worrying about and went back down to one of the other card tables._ 'Might as well play poker,' _he thought, _'maybe it will take my mind off things for a while.' _Little did he know that decision would almost cost Bart Maverick his life.

XXXXXXXX

Everything had been so nice and peaceful at his hotel room. He was tired and dirty and all he wanted to do was get the hotel clerk to heat him some bath water and then sleep. So when the knock came on the door to his room he assumed it was the clerk telling him his water was ready. One look at the three men with guns drawn and bandanas around their faces told him he was wrong. He was defenseless, having removed his gun belt in anticipation of the bath. They backed him up into the room and closed the door.

"I assume this isn't a social visit," Bart offered, hoping desperately to diffuse what was about to happen. "Funny boy," the first one answered.

"You don't pay attention real well, do you?" asked the second man. "You don't own the saloon, understand?"

"Yes sir, I understand." Bart looked from one to the other, searching for a way out. Any way out.

"No, I don't think you do," the first man replied. With that he knocked Bart across the skull with the butt of his pistol. The second and third intruders held Bart while the first man proceeded to pistol whip him into unconsciousness. When Bart was a bloody mess they finally let go of him and he crashed to the ground. There he would lay for hours, bleeding all over himself and the floor. The men holstered their guns and stepped over his body to exit the room. Their job was done.

XXXXXXXX

Bret and Beau continued dealing cards and playing poker most of the night. They had no idea that Bart was on the verge of bleeding to death and still lay unconscious in his hotel room. Not until dawn broke over the mountains did either of them worry about the third Maverick. Bret's game finally broke up and he stood and stretched, yawning and heading for the bar and coffee. Beau soon joined him, both at the bar and with the coffee.

"Say, did you ever find Bart?" Bret suddenly remembered Beau's question from the night before.

"No. He wasn't upstairs and I didn't go back to the hotel."

There was a small note of worry in Bret's next remark. "That's not like him. I wonder if he was at Georgia's?"

Now the same note crept into Beau's voice. "Not unless he went to see her after I left. I was there until just past nine o'clock."

Realizing that Bart had been missing far too long, they looked worriedly at each other. Bret finally nodded his head towards the saloon doors and he and Beau left for the hotel. They were concerned by Bart's absence and had no idea what terrible shape he was in.

When they got to his door Bret instinctively listened for any noise inside. Hearing nothing, he knocked. If Bart was still asleep he really was exhausted last night. No answer. Bret knocked harder. Beau was fidgeting like he did when they were kids and were about to get caught doing something they weren't supposed to. Still no answer. Bret pounded on the door. Not a sound. That was enough. Bret put his shoulder into it and crashed through the door. And almost fell over Bart's body, still lying on the floor where it had been dropped last night.

"Bart! For God's sake, Bart!" Bret knelt on the floor and lifted his brother's head. Though faint, he was breathing. He turned to Beau in a panic. "Get. Doctor. Hurry."

Beau was horrified. He tore out of the room at breakneck speed, the picture of Bart beaten and bloody seared into his brain. _'Dear God,' _he thought_, 'he has to be alright.' _He flew down the steps to the front desk and paused only long enough to ask "Doc Washburn?" The clerk answered "Two doors up" and Beau was gone.

Bret turned his brother over slowly and cradled Bart's head in his arms. He was beaten worse than Bret had ever seen a man beaten, obviously by more than just fists. There was so much blood everywhere that Bret was surprised to find his brother still breathing. As gently as he could he picked Bart up off the floor and carried him over to the bed, laying him down as carefully as a new born baby. Bart let out a small groan and Bret had never heard anything so welcome in his whole life. "It's alright, Bart," Bret whispered. "It'll be alright. Beau's gone for the doctor. Just hang on. I don't want to be an only child." There was another small groan and Bret wondered if Bart had heard his remark or was just reacting to the pain. Either way, his brother was still alive.

Minutes passed like hours while he waited for Beau and the doctor to return. He tried to clean some of the blood off of Bart's face and head but he didn't make much progress. Just as he was about to give up he heard footsteps in the hall and Beau and Doc Washburn entered the room. The doctor had seen plenty of men beaten and bloody through the years but this was one of the worst he'd ever witnessed. As he examined the injuries he wondered just how Beau and Bret were related to this brutalized man. How much to tell them? How honest to be about the chances of survival? He worked on Bart for a long time while Bret paced in circles around the room and Beau attempted to clean some of the bloodstains off the floor. Finally he had done all that he could and faced the two relatives.

"Who's kin?" the doctor asked.

"Me," came the answer from both men.

"I'm his brother."

"I'm his cousin."

The doctor looked from one to the other, and made the decision to be brutally honest. "You might as well hear it from me straight. I'd be real surprised if he makes it till sundown." Beau let out a strangled sound and dropped his head into his hands. Bret just stared at the doctor, praying that he'd heard wrong. Bart couldn't - no -– he wouldn't die. After everything they had been through, there had to be another answer.

"Doctor?" Bret choked out the word. Doc Washburn had a hang-dog look to him, the same face he always had when giving somebody bad news. These two men were going to lose someone they cared deeply for and there was nothing that he could do to prevent it. "I'm sorry. He's just lost too much blood. Got no idea how bad he's broken up inside and even if I did there's not much I could do about it."

The brother stood up straight and looked the doctor square in the eyes. "What can we do for him?"

"Not much," came Doc's answer. "I'll leave aspirin. See if you can get that down him, every few hours. Try to keep him comfortable. Get some of that blood off him. Other than that – "

The cousin nodded his head and took a bill out of his wallet. "Here, doctor, for your trouble."

Doc Washburn waved the bill away. "I'll be back this afternoon. If he pulls through you can give me that. Not takin' it now." He turned back to the brother. "There's one other thing you can do, son."

"What's that?" Bret asked in hushed tones.

"Pray."


	9. Chapter 9 Vigil

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 9 – Vigil

No day ever passed as slowly as that one did. Beau tried to get Bret to eat, drink some coffee, change clothes, anything, but he wouldn't budge from Bart's side. He got his brother as cleaned up as he could manage and kept cold compresses on his forehead. One of them had to function, so Beau forced himself to do just that.

He went to the sheriff's office to report the beating, then to Hiram Foster's office, where he introduced himself as the 'missing Maverick'. Attorney Foster was appalled by the violence and offered any assistance possible. After Beau left there he went to the saloon. Harry was noticeably rattled and Georgia insisted on coming back to the hotel with him. He tried to warn her off, afraid that Bart's appearance would upset and sicken her. She was shocked by the look of the body in the bed but was more disturbed by Bret's refusal to move. It was his brother, by God, and if Bart wasn't going to stick around then at least Bret wasn't going to let him go home alone. So Georgia sat with Bret, while he sat with his brother.

Around 4 o'clock Doc Washburn came back. Only then did Bret get up from the chair at Bart's bedside and leave the room. He returned in just a minute, as the doctor finished his second exam of the day. Bret looked at the doctor hopefully but there wasn't much the older man could say. "All I can tell you is he hasn't developed a fever. Not yet, at least. Probably that aspirin helping. Keep givin' it to him and pray that he doesn't have an infection goin' on anywhere. He's young and strong. That's in his favor. Not much else. Send for me if anything changes." Then he was gone and Bret was back at the bedside.

Georgia sent Beau down to get something to eat and bring food back for her and Bret. He didn't want to leave, either, but she convinced him it wouldn't do anyone any good to starve to death. When Beau returned he brought two dinners. Georgia wolfed hers down but Bret wasn't interested. He did take a cup of coffee and Georgia was glad to see him get anything in his system.

When the sun went down Bart was still hanging on. Harry came by and brought a bottle of the saloon's best whiskey and three glasses. After Harry left Beau poured shots for all three and drank his in record time. Bret waved his away and then thought better of it and took the drink. Georgia set hers down on the nightstand. Beau finally sat in a chair by the open window and stared out into the street. There was no doubt in his mind that Edgar Pike was responsible for this. God help him if Bart died.

Beau started thinking about all the things that the three boys had done together as kids, all the pranks played on one another, all the times they found themselves in trouble up to their eyeballs. They'd been together in good times and bad, and they were together here and now. Bart had to pull through. Beau couldn't imagine life without him or Bret, for that matter. They were his brothers, just with a different father. He heard a noise and jerked his head off of his hand, realizing that he'd been asleep. Georgia was nowhere to be seen. Bret was talking. Talking to Bart.

"Remember that time we decided we could fly? And the only thing that stopped us from breaking our legs was the pile of hay we hadn't raked into the stalls? And when Beau accidentally dropped the toad into Lily Mae's soup? And then had to explain to Lily Mae why her soup jumped?" Bret laughed at the memory. He was desperate for Bart to hear his voice and come back to them. Bret kept reminiscing. "Uncle Ben wouldn't speak to you for a week when you convinced Beau that a straight beat a full house. And what about the time I almost drowned when you and Beau pushed me off the raft we built? You two couldn't sit down after Pappy got done with you." He stopped talking and there was only the faint sound of Bart's breathing. When Bret resumed he was so quiet that Beau could barely hear him. "You can't go, Brother Bart. I've still got too many tricks to play on you; too many girls to steal from you; too much money to win from you. Too much time to spend with you. You can't leave. You're all that I have left of Momma. You need to stay with me." He took a deep breath. This was his brother who lay there hanging between life and death and Bret was trying to will him back to his side of that line.

Beau wondered what Bret would think if he suspected that Beau was awake and listening. He knew that the brothers were close but he'd never heard Bret like this. They were always so casual in their affection for each other that Beau didn't expect the total despair he heard in Bret's voice. What would Bret do if Bart died? What would Beau do if Bart died? Bart was as much his little brother as he was Bret's. Maybe even more, now that they were older. Bart and Beau had spent a lot of time together since Beau came home from England and had grown even closer than they were as children. His mind couldn't even conceive of a life without Bart in it.

He was so tired. He pulled out his watch and looked at it. 2 a.m. The longer that Bart kept breathing the better his chances were. Beau knew he couldn't hold his head up any longer and closed his eyes for just a moment. Then he laid his head down on the table. He was asleep instantly.

XXXXXXXX

Another gray, rainy day. Over twenty four hours had passed since the cousins found Bart lying in his own blood and not much had changed. Beau woke with a start when he heard Bret moving around and realized it was morning. He was stiff from sleeping at the table all night and was surprised to find Bret standing with his leg on a chair, looking out the window. There was a lit cigar in his mouth and a grim expression on his face. "Morning, sunshine," he told Beau once he realized that his cousin was awake. "I won't ask if you slept well."

Beau tried to say something but his mouth refused to form the words. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs and looked around the room. Georgia was gone. Bart hadn't moved since Bret first laid him down in the bed but there was a little color in his face. He stood up too fast and staggered some before righting himself. Bret reached out to grab his arm and Beau was surprised at the gentleness of the touch. "Careful, partner, I can't have two of you down at the same time." Beau shook his head again and finally got words to come out.

"How is he?" He jerked his head towards Bart as he spoke.

Bret sighed and looked down at the chair. "No difference as far as I can tell. Looks a little better but hasn't made a sound." His gaze drifted back out the window. "Only good thing is he can't complain to us about how much he hurts."

"Georgia?" That was Beau's next question.

"She left this morning. Said she'd be back with coffee. Haven't seen her yet."

They stood quietly for a moment until Beau inquired, "You eaten anything?"

Bret gave Beau a strange look, as if to ask "Are you serious?" Instead he just said "No. No interest."

There was a soft knock at the door and Beau went to answer it. There stood Georgia and Jody, carrying a coffee pot, cups, and a tray with plates full of biscuits and gravy. Beau took the tray and set it on the table. Jody came in with her mother and walked over to the bed. "Has he regained consciousness yet?"

"Nope." Bret accepted the full coffee cup that Georgia handed him. She looked questioningly at Beau and he nodded ascent. She poured another and gave it to him. "Sit down and eat. You can't keep going on just coffee." She looked straight at Bret as she spoke. He snorted a laugh and told her, "You've never seen us when we're broke and on the trail."

Beau almost felt guilty when he sat at the table and dug into the plate of biscuits. The food tasted fine but after only two or three bites his insides had enough and let him know in no uncertain terms that it was time to quit. Bret never even gave the plates a serious glance before walking back over to Bart's bedside. His brother needed to wake up.

Jody and Georgia talked quietly for a moment and then Georgia turned to Beau. "I'm going to the saloon. There's a shipment coming in today and Harry's too busy to check it in. Jody's going to lend a hand. Is there anything you need before I go?"

Beau stared plaintively at the still body in the bed. "I know," Georgia told him, "but there's nothing I can do there. See if you can get Bret to eat something, please?"

"That's a lost cause," Beau mumbled under his breath. Georgia and Jody left and the door closed softly behind them. The stillness in the room was frightening. Beau felt like he would lose his mind if he didn't get out of there for a few minutes. "I'm going to see the sheriff," he told Bret as he picked up his hat. "I need to know if Pike is back yet."

Bret's demeanor visibly changed. His whole body stiffened and he let his hand rest on his gun. "Do that, would ya? I'd like to have a few words with Mr. Pike. In private."

Beau left the room and closed the door behind him. He made his way downstairs and stopped at the front desk as the clerk asked "How is he this morning, Mr. Maverick?"

"Still alive" was Beau's only response. He walked outside and down the street to the sheriff's office. Sheriff Bowman looked up when Beau entered the office but didn't seem surprised to see him.

"Mr. Maverick, what can I do for you today?"

"You can tell me what's being done about the attack on my cousin."

"Well, sir, there's not much I can do at this point in time. No description, no eyewitnesses, don't even know how many of 'em there were. How is he this mornin', by the way?"

Beau was unhappy with the response but the sheriff had a point. "There's been no change."

Mort Bowman shook his head. "Sorry to hear that. Anythin' else I can do?"

"Yes, there is. What have you heard about Edgar Pike's return?"

The sheriff looked worried. "Now why the concern about Pike? Am I waitin' for a killin' to be done?"

Beau laughed, a disturbing sound. "Not yet. At least not by me. I can't speak for anyone else."

"I'd hate to have to arrest one 'a you boys. Specially in light of what's already happened."

Beau wanted the sheriff back on track. "Edgar Pike?"

"Haven't heard anything about him since he left for Denver. You figure he's behind this mess?"

"Who else?" came Beau's reply. "We haven't been in town long enough to make enemies."

Bowman rubbed his chin. "Guess not, come to think of it. I sure would like to talk to Edgar, myself. See if he has anything to say about all this."

"You mean besides 'all the Mavericks should burn in hell' rather than take over the saloon?"

"Yeah, I reckon that would be as good a place as any to start. Edgar can get a mite touchy when he thinks somebody's takin' his things."

"Touchy enough to have someone killed?"

"Now, don't go getting' ahead 'a yourself," the sheriff told him. "Nobody's been killed."

"You mean not yet, don't you?"

"Not as long as that cousin 'a yours is alive."

"And what about the two attempts on our lives the day before yesterday?"

The lawman thought for a minute. "Yeah, if he's behind one, he's probably behind all three. You got a point."

"So you'll talk to him when he comes back?" Beau wanted to drive the point home to the sheriff – you talk to him or we will.

"I'll bring him in and talk to him. I want answers, too. This was a nice, peaceful town."

"Was. Just remember when the time comes, the Mavericks didn't start this."

Bowman looked right at Beau. "I'll remember. Just you remember, the Mavericks ain't no law here."

"I don't think we're the ones that forgot, sheriff." Beau turned and left the office. He wasn't happy with the sheriff's reactions to his questions but he wasn't going to do anything about it right now. He walked back towards the hotel and stopped at Doc Washburn's on the way.

The doctor was setting the arm of a young boy who had fallen out of a tree. "You got to be more careful than that, Teddy. That's the third time I've set that same arm." He looked up as Beau walked in with a question in his eyes.

"No, Doctor," Beau answered the unasked question. "Just stopping by to check in with you."

"Whew, you had me there for a minute," Doc Washburn declared as he hustled Teddy back to his mother. "You know the routine, Mrs. Felder. Keep him out of that tree." Mrs. Felder and Teddy left the office.

"Well, since you're not here for that," the doctor sighed, "how's the patient? Has he come to yet?"

Beau shook his head unhappily. "No, not by the time I left a few minutes ago. That's what I've come to ask you about, Doctor. Hasn't he been unconscious an awfully long time?"

Doctor Washburn answered Beau as honestly as he could. "Maybe yes, maybe no. Don't really know. The heads a funny thing. Sometimes it's better if you don't know what's goin' on inside it."

That didn't answer Beau's question. "Still, Doctor, how long can he stay like that?"

A shake of the head was all the answer that Beau got. The doctor thought for a moment and then added, "He's dang lucky he's still breathin'. I didn't expect him to last this long. That's a good sign. Means he's still in there fightin.' Lot 'a men woulda' gone last night, like I expected him to. That boy's got a hard head. Run in the family?" He gave a little laugh with the last question.

"Yes, I expect it does." Beau thought of all the times one or another of them had been hit in the head and knocked out. The life of a gambler wasn't easy, but it was far preferable to work.

"Well, just keep prayin'. And be sure and send for me if he wakes up." Beau noticed the doctor said 'if' rather than 'when.' Is that what all this had come down to? Waiting for Bart to die?

'Thank you, Doctor."

Beau left Doc Washburn's office feeling worse than when he arrived. He wanted hope that everything would work out all right and there didn't appear to be much of that. He walked slowly back to the hotel, oblivious of all the people out in the town on this wet and gloomy day. When he got to Bart's door he couldn't bring himself to turn the knob or enter the room. Instead he went back to his own room and decided to wash, shave and put on clean clothes. Maybe it would make him feel better.

It took almost an hour to accomplish his tasks but he did feel restored when he was finished. He headed back to Bart's room, hoping that he could get Bret to leave for a while and do the same thing. He wasn't prepared for what he found when he opened his cousin's door.

Bret had finally passed out from exhaustion while sitting at Bart's bedside. He lay slumped over the foot of the bed, sound asleep. And Bart's eyes were open.


	10. Chapter 10 Pain

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 10 – Pain

Everything he could see was blurry and distorted. Strange shapes and colors swam before his eyes and every square inch of his head throbbed painfully, even his eyeballs. Where was he? Why couldn't he focus? Why did everything in his head hurt so bad?

He tried to blink but his eyelids didn't seem to be working. He tried to turn his head to the side. Big mistake. Not only could he not move, every nerve in his body was screaming. He'd never hurt like this in his whole life. Not even when he fell out of the hay loft window in the barn when he was ten years old and landed so wrong that everyone thought he split his skull wide open. Maybe he should close his eyes and try this again.

That sounded like a good idea. He closed his eyes and slowly, painfully reopened them. Of course, several hours had passed by the time he opened them again. He was in and out of consciousness numerous times before he remembered that his intention was only to close and reopen his eyes. He heard a voice murmuring words that he couldn't really hear and didn't understand; it made as much sense as the images that swam in front of his face. And there was the pain. Again. Still. Forever and ever. Amen.

That was funny. He tried to laugh but nothing happened. He tried to remember who he was, where he was, even why he was. 't. work. His brain was like a fish floundering in the air, gasping for water that didn't exist. Like the fish he and Bret had tried to drown. Wait. There was a name. Bret. His . . . . . his what? Father, mother, sister, brother, son, uncle, horse? Bret. He repeated it over and over in his head until it became a mental chant. . . . STOP!

He lay still, with his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to go away. It didn't. Sometimes it hurt so bad that he couldn't breathe. He wanted to scream in agony but he couldn't. The pain would build to a crescendo until it was almost unbearable. Then his head would explode and he'd lose consciousness again.

Time passed. He didn't know how much, just that it hurt a tiny bit less the next time he heard noises. And every once in a while there was a word that sounded familiar. What was that one from earlier? Oh, right, Bret. He should know that name. It was right on the very edge of his mind, like grasping for . . . . what? Grasping for what? Why couldn't he make his brain work? He tried opening his eyes again but everything was dark, black as night, Bret would say. Again with the 'Bret.' Who the hell was Bret?

Wait . . . there was someone there. Someone murmuring, almost in his ear. Words. " . . . . too much time . . . . . can't leave . . . . Momma." That stuck. Momma. He remembered Momma. How she smelled, how soft her touch was, how gentle her words were. Momma who held him and rocked him and sang to him until his fever got so high that he started to slip away . . . until she promised him the gift . . . . if he would stay. And he did. But he didn't want to any more. It hurt too much.

He drifted off again, in and out while the night slipped away. There was a voice, a woman's voice. Momma? No, somebody else. Samantha? Caroline? Melodia? Who were these people? And why did it hurt to remember their names? Georgia. It popped into his head, just like 'Bret' had. Georgia. Sweet Georgia. She was an angel. No, angel, no. Not an angel. Something . . . . else. It hurt and wouldn't stop. Make it stop, Georgia. Make it stop.

Sleep. Real, honest to goodness sleep. Not unconsciousness but sleep. And in sleep, dreams. Dreams about Momma and Pappy and Cousin Beau. Uncle Ben and Lily Mae. And Bret. At last he knew Bret. His brother. His best friend. His worst nightmare. Bret that made him laugh. Bret that scared him to death. Bret that always had his back. Thank God they hadn't beaten Bret.

Wait. Did he say beaten? Is that what happened? He was beaten? Now he remembered. He saw the men. His gun was already lying on the far side of the bed. There was no defense. He felt the pistol crack across his head. And the pain. Again and again the pain. Over and over the pounding on him while men forced him still and stopped him from escaping. Until he couldn't run. Couldn't stand. Couldn't breathe. Then nothing. Until he heard Bret's voice begging him to stay.

So he stayed.


	11. Chapter 11 The Agony and the Ecstasy

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 11 – The Agony and the Ecstasy

Doc Washburn shook his head in surprise. "Don't know what to say. Didn't expect this. Bad as he was beat? I thought sure you were gonna lose him." He cleared his throat and gave Bret a stern look. "Still might. Depends on whether a fever starts workin' on him or not." Doc shook his head again. "Don't know what you did but it worked. Keep doin' it."

He picked up his bag and turned to go. Bret grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Doc, he hasn't said anything. He just lays there and looks at us. I don't even know if he hears us. What if he's not – " He couldn't bring himself to finish the question. Doc finished it for him.

"The same? All there? Can't answer that. Just gonna have to be patient. Like I told you before, the heads a funny thing. It's got its own timetable for doin' things. Especially when it's been beat up that bad. Give him time. He's still alive, ain't he? Right there says a lot." Doc pulled free from Bret's grip. "I got to go. Mrs. Sampson's havin' her baby. I'll come back when I can."

Beau opened the door for the doctor and he was gone. He and Bret looked at each other, wondering what the doctor wasn't telling them. Less than 48 hours ago Bart had been laughing and joking with them, trying to help determine their next move in dealing with Edgar Pike. Now his body lay in the bed where Bret had placed him but neither one knew where his mind was. Or if it was.

When Beau walked back into the hotel room and saw Bart's eyes open he nearly jumped up and down and shouted. He woke Bret immediately and the two of them did something they rarely ever did – they hugged each other with joy. That didn't last long, as both mean realized that Bart still wasn't moving or even trying to speak. He just lay there with his eyes open and no other signs of life. Beau left to retrieve the doctor and caught him leaving his office, headed for the Sampson house. He made a quick stop at the hotel to see the patient and then was gone. Which left the two of them wondering what was next.

"Bret, you've got to eat. You haven't moved out of this room in two days and the only thing you've had is coffee. Go get food. I'll stay here with Beau and Bart." It was Georgia, standing in the doorway. Neither man had heard her come in but both were glad to see her. Bret started to protest and then stopped. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. That had been unimportant as long as Bart's life was hanging in the balance. Suddenly he was starving. He grabbed his hat and turned to Beau. "Come get me if there's any change."

"Rest assured," Beau answered. He closed the hotel room door behind Bret and turned worriedly to Georgia. "He hasn't moved or spoken," Beau told her solemnly. He looked over at Bart, still lying in the same position in the bed, glassy eyed and staring at nothing. "What if he's not Bart?"

"Don't think of that. He's still alive, that's the important thing. He'll come back to you." Beau looked so downcast and unhappy that Georgia put her arms around him. He leaned into her and she held him while the damn broke and sobs racked his entire body. It took a long time for him to deal with all the pain he had been holding inside for the past two days. Slowly he salvaged control and looked down into Georgia's eyes. She was a beautiful woman and he kissed her. For just a moment she kissed him back, then pulled away, embarrassed and ashamed.

"Georgia . . . . . Mrs. Mayfield," he stammered. "I'm so sorry."

She turned away so that he couldn't see her face. "It's alright," she whispered. "You've been so worried."

"It was . . . it was inexcusable. It will never happen again." Beau was nearly beside himself. What had he done?

A weak sound emanated from the bed. It was Bart, with the tiniest bit of a smile trying to curl around his lips. He'd seen the whole thing. Beau would never forgive himself. Then the thought struck both he and Georgia at the same time – Bart was cognizant of what was happening around him. Maybe some good had come from the misguided kiss after all.

XXXXXXXX

Bret felt like he'd been drowning for days and he was finally able to breathe air. Bart was alive! That was the most important thing that had happened in this whole fiasco, and Bret was more than grateful for it. As soon as he had some food in his belly he would go back and see where the next step in his brother's recovery would take them.

Once done eating he had a change of heart. After two full days and nights at Bart's bedside he was hot, dirty and in need of a bath. He stopped at the front desk and ordered a bath drawn, then went back to his own room, which he hadn't seen in days. An hour later he was clean, shaved and ready to go back and tend to his brother's needs. He had one more thing to do first and ran back downstairs to see if an answer to Bart's telegram to Pappy had arrived. It had, and it was short and to the point.

Can't divulge more until Pike handled.

Wire me when accomplished.

Pappy

Brief and cryptic. Bret sighed. Just like Pappy to give them as little information as possible. What hadn't he told them? That would have to wait. Bret's only concern right now was Bart.

The brothers had done plenty of traveling and living on their own, sometimes with thousands of miles distance between them. But if one was in trouble, the other one was there. Bret couldn't imagine life without his brother somewhere, knowing that if he needed help, help was on the way. _'Thanks again, God,'_ Bret thought. _'Don't go just yet, Bart still needs you.'_

When he returned to Bart's hotel room he found Georgia sitting at his brother's bedside telling him a story about Jessie and her mule. She looked up at Bret and smiled but kept talking to Bart. Beau was at the window smoking a cigar and staring disconsolately into the street. The rain had finally stopped and the sky was starting to clear. Bret waited until Georgia was finished and then went over to his brother's bedside. Georgia moved to the window and said something to Beau, trying to give Bret some privacy with Bart.

"Hey, Brother Bart, did you miss me? If you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to this extreme." Bret sat down and looked at his brother. There was no response, just the same blank stare. Bret tenderly took Bart's left hand in his and got very quiet. "You scared us good, you know? Don't do that again, okay?" He waited for a glance, a sound, a squeeze of the hand, anything. There was no reaction from his brother at all. Beau and Georgia were watching them now, holding their breath to see what happened next.

Bret was beyond desperate. What if Bart wasn't right anymore? He looked awful, only slightly better than before Bret washed off the blood. Both eyes were blackened and his nose had been broken. He was bruised and swollen everywhere that Bret could see. The handsome profile that all the women fell for had taken a beating. But what about the man inside?

"Bart, listen to me. I need to know you're still here. There's gotta be a way to let me know. I'm goin' crazy out here waiting' for you to come back. Please, Bart. Something. Anything." He paused for a moment, unsure whether he'd felt anything or not. There it was again, a small squeeze of the hand. No mistake. His brother was in there somewhere.

Georgia came back over to Bart's bedside. Bret looked up at her plaintively. "Can you help me please? He should have more aspirin and it's too hard to do alone."

"Of course," she answered. "Will you lift his head?"

Bret lifted Bart up carefully by the shoulders and held his head while Georgia picked up the aspirin and a water glass. It was difficult enough with both of them trying to get an almost comatose man to swallow pills, much less one of them alone. How had Bret managed it the past two days? The answer was simple: Beau. At this exact moment, however, Beau was physically in the room but his mind was a thousand miles away.

Or was it? With all that transpired in the last two days Beau hadn't thought of anything but Bart and what would happen if – but his mind didn't go there now, it went back to the unexpected kiss he had given Georgia. Georgia Mayfield, a widow woman with a 20 year old daughter. A woman old enough to be his mother. A woman who had been nothing but kind, considerate and helpful ever since they met. A woman that had seen a lot of things in life. A woman that he was falling in love with?


	12. Chapter 12 A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 12 – A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Now the hard part began. The healing process. Confusion and memory problems, inability to chew and swallow food, damaged vocal chords, insomnia, nightmares, groundless fear, and the pain. The constant and unending pain. Headaches, jaw aches, swollen and bruised neck muscles, the inability to turn your head, the constant ringing in your ears, the difficulty breathing with a swollen nose, the eye strain and the flashes of both very bright light and very black darkness. A never ending litany of pain.

Bret and Beau always teased Bart because he liked to grumble about the small aches and pains that riding horseback for twelve hour stretches could cause. Or tell the two of them how badly he slept because the ground or bed was too hard. So they were prepared for what they expected to be an onslaught of never ending complaints about everything.

Bart never said a word. No moaning, groaning or complaining, no matter how difficult or painful things became. That's how they came to the conclusion that he must truly be in agony. Around the fifth day after they found him on the floor at death's door he became more responsive to them, trying to smile and finding his voice again, even though it sounded like nothing more than a hoarse croak. He tried to sit up but his head and neck muscles were so swollen that five minutes at a time was all he could manage. Bret, Beau, Georgia, Jody and even Harry took turns staying with him, trying to get whatever he needed and making sure that he didn't try to do anything he wasn't capable of yet. Whoever wasn't in the hotel room was at the saloon, where business continued to boom as word got around town of the brutal beating inflicted on one of Jessie's nephews. Even the ladies of the church, who had sometimes snubbed and gossiped about Jessie, were moved enough by the unprovoked attack on the handsome young man to bring food and various needed items to the hotel. Of course they wouldn't go up to his room; that would have been improper. So they left things at the front desk and the hotel clerk made regular 'delivery runs' to the upstairs landing.

The first real test came the day Doc Washburn decided it was time for the invalid to try and walk. Bart had been sitting up for several days and was beginning to look human again as the swelling in his face receded. He hadn't been out of bed for anything more than a few minutes in weeks but the doctor had declared it was time. He'd lost a lot of weight, mostly due to his inability to chew and swallow anything but liquids, and he was weak from the lack of substantial nourishment and inactivity. So Beau and Bret got him up, one on each side of him; they practically lifted him out of bed and onto the floor. Bart was a determined fellow but when he tried to put his weight on his legs they couldn't hold him. Bret had the better angle and grabbed Bart as he went down, picking him up as if he were a little child. This was not the man he carried from the floor to the bed the morning after the beating. This was his brother, weak and frail as he had been at ten years old with two broken legs and an almost fractured skull.

Determined as ever to show Doc Washburn what he was capable of, Bart insisted that Bret put him back down. So back he went. This time bracing himself between his cousin and his brother, he succeeded in standing up and taking a few steps before collapsing again. He caught Beau's shoulder and steadied himself, actually managing to remain upright for several minutes. The doctor declared the day a success and the rapidly healing invalid actually got to sit in a chair at the table for a while. Georgia had been there for the attempt to walk and she went to the dining room for some food. Bret left with Doc Washburn; one went back to his office and the other to 'The Three Mavericks.' That left Beau and Bart alone in the room for the first time in several days.

It seemed to Bart that Beau had been avoiding being alone with him, ever since he'd witnessed what he thought of as 'the kiss.' Truthfully, Beau had been spending a lot of hours at the saloon, allowing Bret more time to be with Bart. Knowing how close Bret had come to losing his brother and how much he suffered because of that convinced Beau to take on more of the burden of keeping the business on solid ground.

So Bart finally got to sit with Beau and poke around for the truth of the encounter with Georgia. Beau did everything that he could to avoid discussing matters until Bart finally pinned him down.

"What's going with Mrs. Mayfield?" Bart still had trouble getting out all his words.

"You mean what's going on? Nothing." Beau was being deliberately evasive.

"Kiss wasn't nothing." Bart was insistent.

"That was weeks ago. And it meant nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing."

Beau did not want to discuss Georgia or any feelings he might or might not have for her. Why wouldn't Bart drop it?

"Nice woman. She likes you a lot."

"Mmmhmm."

"No, she does. I can see it."

Beau was exasperated at this point. "You can't see what isn't there." As soon as the words came out of his mouth he was sorry that he'd said them. The last few weeks had been hard enough on Bart without Beau making things more difficult.

Bart hung his head. "Sorry," he mumbled. He'd really hit a sore spot with Beau.

"No. I'm sorry," Beau came right back with the apology. "I didn't know what I was doing. I don't know what I'm feeling. And I've needed you to talk to and tell me what I should do and you haven't been able to and you still can't and it isn't your fault. Let's get you back to bed, shall we? You've got to be worn out from today."

"Sure." That had become Bart's 'go to' word. It was the answer he had for almost every question asked of him. "Do you want something to drink?" "Sure." "Want to play some poker?" "Sure." "Do you want to lie down?" "Sure." "Do you want to be well so that you don't have to depend on us?" "Sure."

"Beau?"

"Yes."

"Mad?"

"No, why would I be mad?" Beau and Bart made their way slowly across the room, back to the bed. Bart leaned heavily on Beau but managed the few steps back.

"Nosy."

"Cousin Bart, you always were. That's nothing new."

"Worse now. Nothing better to do."

"We'll see about that. Now that you've walked it's time to start building your strength back up. Get some weight on you. Get you out in the world. Get you healed so that you're well when we have to deal with Uncle Edgar."

"Ever come back?" He looked at Beau with anger in his eyes.

Beau didn't know whether to tell Bart the truth or not. Truth won out. "Yes, he came back from Denver. Denied having anything to do with the shootings or your beating. Sheriff didn't have any evidence and couldn't hold him. He's been lying low ever since."

Bart stood straight up and pushed himself away from Beau. There was fierce determination in his body and his voice. "Got some things to discuss with Mr. Pike. Want to do it in person."

Beau stepped back just a little and looked at the frail, single-minded man standing there. "Yes, I'm sure that you do. And you shall, dear cousin, you shall."


	13. Chapter 13 The Promise

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 13 – The Promise

Once Bart started to regain his strength things got back into a routine. Bret and Beau spent a lot of their time at the saloon, playing poker and keeping things going. Georgia alternated between taking care of the day-to-day management and helping Bart. Jody spent the most time with Bart, helping him regain the mobility he had lost during his long recovery. They went on buggy rides and picnics, anything to get him out of the hotel room and moving. And his appetite came back as soon as his jaw healed and he started to regain some of the weight he'd lost. He began to look more like pre-beating Bart.

He and Jody became fast friends. She felt badly about the snooping she had done, especially in light of the fact that she never found what she was looking for. Jessie must have been mistaken when she told Jody that the Mavericks had it. She was bright and inquisitive and had a real sense of humor. She was a good poker playing partner, too, even if he couldn't beat her when they initially started playing. That skill came back to him a little slowly at first as he healed in both mind and body. Once he started beating her regularly she knew that he was well on his way back to 'normal', or as close as a gambler can get to 'normal.'

The day finally came when it was time to get back on a horse. Bret and Beau went to the livery to get their horses while Bart waited outside the hotel. It seemed strange to him to be getting back in the saddle; it had been months since the last time he rode. So much had changed, not just with Bart. Bret became the resident dealer in the high stakes poker game that was usually going on at the saloon; Beau and Georgia were 'sort of' seeing each other, or at least spending time together; even Harry had to hire and train another bartender. The lawsuit over the ownership of the saloon was put on hold indefinitely until all parties were well enough to appear in court. And Edgar Pike remained at his ranch and quiet as a church mouse.

Mounting his horse seemed to be no problem for Bart, but sitting in the saddle required the use of muscles that had gone untested for a long time. This was going to require an effort on his part, but a necessary one. Beau and Bret had discouraged the ladies from going with them on this first ride; they anticipated the destination that Bart had in mind. Both men hoped they were wrong, but Bart's temper had been simmering for months and he had been unusually quiet about it.

Of course they rode to the JP Ranch, after trying in vain to dissuade Bart from heading there. The only thing going in their favor was the fact that Bart wasn't wearing his gun. They rode in silence, no one speaking even after they opened and entered the gate on the road. Bart was in the lead now and there was no stopping him. When they arrived at the ranch house he dismounted and went straight to the front door. His knocking on the door certainly wasn't gentle.

"Come on out, Edgar, I know you're in there." His voice was even and firm, like he just wanted to have a pleasant chat with Edgar. Neither of the men staying mounted behind him had ever heard him this restrained. Bret had anticipated his temper rearing its head and Beau didn't know what to expect. Bart was polite, almost respectful.

Slowly the door swung open and Bart was looking down the barrel of a shotgun. "What do you want?" the little man barked at him.

"I just wanted to talk, Edgar," Bart remained calm and in control. "I never got a chance to introduce myself." He offered his hand to shake but Edgar didn't let go of the gun. "I'm Bart Maverick, the man you tried to have killed." He smiled at Edgar and a chill ran up Bret's spine. He'd never seen his brother like this.

"What do you want?" Pike repeated.

"Sorry it's taken me so long to get out here, Edgar, but I've been a little under the weather." The smile stayed on Bart's face. Anyone listening would have thought he was talking to an old friend. "I just wanted to let you know that we're going to go to court and beat you. You're never going to walk into that saloon again without knowing what you lost. And when we win we're going to sue you and take everything away from you that Aunt Jessie left you. Including the picture on your mantel that you showed my brother." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper and the smile left his face. Bret and Beau had to strain to hear the words and the murderous tone he spoke them in. "And when we've taken everything that you hold dear, Uncle Edgar, I'm going to come out here and kill you."


	14. Chapter 14 Laying the Groundwork

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 14 – Laying the Groundwork

Bret had to shake his head to make sure he'd heard the words right. Beau sat on his horse dumbfounded. Neither man knew what to think. Was Bart serious, or was he just trying to put a scare into the old man?

Edgar continued to stand in the door to his home, stunned into silence by the promise. Bart nonchalantly tipped his hat to Pike, turned on his heel and walked back to his horse. He mounted and headed for town. Bret and Beau turned their horses around and followed the youngest Maverick. The three of them rode silently back through the gate and continued on the road to Silver Creek. No one spoke all the way back to the hotel.

When they arrived in town Beau took the horses back to the livery and Bret and Bart went in to the hotel dining room. Bret just got coffee but Bart actually ordered food. He still had a way to go to get back up to his 'fighting weight' but Bret was happy to see that Bart's statement to Pike hadn't cost him his appetite.

"Uh, Brother Bart, what you said to Edgar – "

"Mmmhmm."

"You weren't serious, were you?"

Bart had his fork raised and full of food but stopped halfway to his mouth when Bret asked the question. He set the fork down on the plate and looked at his older brother with a strange scowl. "Do you really have to ask me that?"

Bret remembered the tone in Bart's voice as he threatened Pike. "Yes."

Bart sat perfectly still and looked Bret right in the eyes. "Of course not. I thought that a little fear would be the least that I could pass along to him. You know me better than that."

Yesterday Bret would have bet his life on it. Today he wasn't so sure. "Bart?"

This time Bart just raised his eyebrow in response.

"Are you sure?"

Bart put his utensils completely down and pushed away his plate. His eyes were twinkling but his tone was dead serious. "Bret, I've had enough head and neck injuries to last a lifetime. Do you really think I'd be dumb enough to risk a noose around my neck just for the sheer pleasure of killing that man?"

It was the tone of voice that made Bret question his brother. "I thought you were going to die. I can't go through that again."

Bart chuckled at Bret's serious countenance. "Quit worrying. I'm not going to kill anyone, especially Pike. He didn't do the beating, he just paid for it."

Bret dropped the subject but something about their exchange still bothered him. He'd talk to Beau when they got to the saloon.

"I'm going down to 'Mavericks.' Are you up to it?"

"Sure." There was that word again. "About time I sat down to play poker with somebody besides Jody. See if I still know how."

"Don't play with me, Bart. You cheat when we play."

"Bret, how can you say that? You cheat, too, when we play. Besides, I need to see how well my head works in a real game, not that stuff you're over there dealin'."

"Just remember when you insult me that Pappy taught me first. I know things you've never thought of."

The younger Maverick laughed outright at that. "Yes, brother dear, but he taught me best."

XXXXXXXX

It was the first time Bart had been back to the saloon in months. Harry was happy to see him and introduced him to their new bartender, Alvin. Lettie came over to hug him and Georgia emerged from her office long enough to give him a kiss on the cheek. Harry poured him a coffee and Bart took it gratefully. Then he went looking for a nice, quiet little poker game and found one without too much trouble. The skills were still there and it wasn't long into the game before Bart was winning almost every hand.

Bret wasn't ready to sit down and run his table for the night so he stayed at the bar and talked to Harry for a while. When Beau came in he went straight to Georgia's office but was back out in 10 or 15 minutes. He sat down at a table on the far end of the room and waved Bret over. Bret brought his coffee and set it down, then looked at Beau seriously. "There's something we need to talk about."

"You mean besides Bart's little show this morning?" Beau's tone was flippant but his eyes and expression were serious.

"That's what bothers me," Bret answered him "I'm not so sure it was a show."

Beau rubbed his chin and sat silently for a minute. "Do you think he was serious? Did you speak to him?"

"I don't know if he was serious. He says no, but something isn't right." A loud burst of noise from the roulette wheel drowned out everything for a moment. When it quieted back down, Bret resumed. "I've never seen him like that, Beau. The way he talked to Pike – if it was me he'd said those things to, I'd believe him."

"Bart's not capable of cold-blooded murder," Beau protested.

"Wouldn't you be capable if you were beaten like he was?"

Another silence as Beau and Bret both considered the question. Finally Beau shook his head 'no.' "You, maybe. Me, possibly. Bart? Not a chance. You know him. When he gets pushed far enough that temper explodes but it doesn't happen very often. And there was no temper involved in what he said or the way he said it. He was as calm and rational as we are right now." Again he shook his head. "No, not our boy. Not in a million years. Not in cold blood."

Bret thought it over and then told Beau, "I hope you're right. There's something that's different about him and I just can't put my finger on it. Whatever it is, I don't like it." He turned his head to watch Bart at the poker table for a minute. "That's why I'm glad he decided to come with me this afternoon. I kinda wanna keep an eye on him for a while."

Beau protested, "Even if he had that thought in the back of his mind, you heard him this morning. There was an order to the things he told Pike, and the first one was for us to win the lawsuit. That hasn't happened yet. Matter of fact that's why I was late coming here. Mr. Foster stopped me and told me that the hearings been rescheduled for next week."

"That's not good. Keeps what happened in the front of his mind while we sit in court. And he's gonna hafta look at Pike every day."

"Yes, but at least we'll know where he is at all times." Beau lit a cigar and blew out a plume of smoke. "If one of us is always with him he won't be able to do anything about it."

Bret nodded in agreement. "That's true. I thought our baby-sitting days were over."

"No such luck, cousin. At least until Bart is Bart again."


	15. Chapter 15 Remembrance of Things Past

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 15 – Remembrance of Things Past

Bart was worn out. It had been a long day, starting with the horseback ride out to Pike's, then the confrontation, the ride back, and the worrisome discussion with Bret followed by several hours of poker. He was tired and sleep called to him. The only problem was his self-appointed baby-sitters were not going to let him go back to his hotel room alone. Those days were over, at least for the time being in this town.

That meant he had to wait for either Bret or Beau to take him back to the room that became his prison for so many months while he recovered. Most nights Beau walked Georgia home after the day was over, and this night was no exception. So by the time Beau got back to the saloon Bart was ready to go to sleep in one of the offices. Instead they left and walked out into the night air, Beau lighting a cigar and handing it to Bart, then lighting one for himself. It was turning into fall and the nights were getting chilly, so they hurried back up the street towards the place they had come to call home. Beau wanted to get his own take on Bart's state of mind and now was just as good a time as any. Without much ado Beau launched into the 'subtle' grilling of his cousin.

"So, Cousin Bart, how are you going to go about doing it?"

"Doing what, Beau?"

"Killing Edgar Pike."

As chilly as it was Bart stopped and looked at Beau. "Did Bret put you up to this?"

"Put me up to what?"

"To digging into my brain," Bart answered.

"I don't think he's worried about your brain. He knows your brain would never let your head get put into a noose. I think he's worried about your heart."

Bart sounded indignant. "My brother should know my heart. And you, too. I can't believe either of you give me so little credit."

"Oh I give you plenty of credit, Bart. I give you enough credit to know that once you make your mind up to something, a mule would be less stubborn. And you certainly sounded like you had your mind made up this morning out at Pike's ranch. About going out there to kill him, I mean. Convince me otherwise, please."

Bart would have shaken his head 'no' but right now it hurt too much. Another one of those blinding headaches starting? He hadn't told anyone about them. So instead he settled for a "No. I'm not going to try and convince you of anything. You can believe whatever it is you want to believe. I didn't spend all those months fighting to get better just so I could get hung. And if you think I did you're crazy." He had stopped dead in his tracks and turned to argue with Beau but now he turned back towards the hotel and resumed walking. If Beau wanted to argue he could go argue with Bret. Bart had enough.

"Wait up there, Bart. I wasn't trying to set you off; I just wanted to know where your head really was. Bret is convinced that something isn't quite right and he tried to talk me into it. I wanted to make up my own mind. That's why the questions. I think your heads on straight and you're fine."

Beau had no idea. Neither one did. A good day was a day where there was no ringing in his ears and no pounding in his head. He didn't have those very often. And then there were the headaches, far worse than just the normal throbbing. They hurt so bad that he sat perfectly still in a darkened room and prayed for death. Every minute passed like an hour. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, and all he could hear was the crashing in his head. He'd been lucky so far, none had occurred while he was with anybody. He was afraid that wouldn't last forever, and then what would they do with him? Lock him away somewhere?

And last night he blacked out. One minute he was sitting in his room watching the street below his window and it was 9 p.m. The next thing he remembered it was 3:30 in the morning and he was thrashing around on the floor. He had no idea what happened during the six and a half hours he lost. What if he'd gone somewhere and done something he didn't remember? What if he went out and killed Edgar Pike? What then? He had to go see Doc Washburn and find out what was going on. But what would he do if the doctor told Bret? Or Beau? No, better to keep it to himself for now and see if things would settle down.

He realized that Beau was talking to him. " . . . . we just have to humor him until he gets over it. That's about all we can do." They reached the hotel. They trudged up the stairs together and, as had become the habit, Beau opened Bart's door and checked around inside before letting him go in. Bart walked over to the open window and closed it. It was chilly in the room.

"All set? Well, good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

Bart was ready for sleep. But was sleep ready for him?

XXXXXXXX

He slept deeply, with no interruptions. For once no nightmares, no reliving the brutal attack, no dreaming about strangling Pike with his bare hands. Everything in his head was quiet and peaceful, the way sleep was supposed to be. The way it hadn't been for months.

When he woke the next morning the sun was shining in through the curtains. The window was still closed and the room was slightly stuffy. Bart got out of bed to crack the window open and that's when it hit. A wave of nausea unlike anything he'd felt since the first and last time he'd ever gotten drunk. He hated throwing up and no matter how sick he felt he wouldn't let himself. He made it to the window and opened it enough to stick his head out into the fresh air. Just breathe, he told himself. Slowly the nausea receded and he started to feel better. _'Well, that was a new piece of the puzzle,_' he thought to himself. _'Where did it come from?' _That was the one thing he hadn't had any trouble with – his stomach. Maybe it was something he ate yesterday. Then he remembered, he hadn't had any food after lunch. _'Well, just great. Add that to all the things wrong with me. Now my stomach's losing its mind.'_

He'd had just about enough from his body lately. He wasn't going to put up with any more. Slowly, so as to not upset the delicate balance in his intestines, he got cleaned up and dressed. He was going down to talk to Doc Washburn. Neither of the other Mavericks would be awake at this hour and he could get in and out of the doctor's small office without being seen. He was still tired from yesterday's first full day of exertion but he was no longer sleepy. He made his way quietly down the stairs and out to the sidewalk without running into anyone who would question where he was going at this early hour. When he got to the doctor's office he was lucky – Doc was the only one there.

"Well Bart, my boy. It's good to see you up and out. How are you this morning?"

By now he knew better than to shake his head. Especially when it was this early and there was still a chance that it wouldn't ache today. "That's what I've come to talk to you about, Doc. I'm still having the ringing in my ears and the pounding in my skull. And new wrinkles have been added –blinding headaches and blackouts." He paused and looked plaintively at the doctor. "And this morning I was sick to my stomach. I'm not havin' a baby, am I Doc?" He tried to make a joke of the complaints but Doc Washburn could see that Bart was miserable.

"Come in here with me, Bart, and we'll have a look at that head of yours." Bart followed the doctor into his inner office and sat while Washburn fiddled with his instruments. He poked and prodded and asked questions and checked out every square inch of Bart Maverick that he could think of. Finally, when Bart was beginning to feel like a dressmaker's doll, Doc Washburn stopped and sat down. "Son, I don't know what to tell you. Outside, physically you're healed. There's no scars, no cuts, bruises, swelling or lumps anywhere visible. You don't have a fever and your color's good. I just can't find anything that's causing this. You're remarkably healthy for someone that took the punishment you did. I can give you some aspirin to carry with you for the headaches but there's not much else I can do."

Bart sighed. He'd been afraid that the doctor was going to tell him something, anything, but instead the answer he got was 'nothing.' He looked at Doc and said pleadingly, "Don't say anything to Bret. He worries about me every minute; he doesn't need any more troubles. Or Beau. He's got problems enough of his own." Bart was thinking about Georgia Mayfield.

"Now you know, son, that I'm not gonna tell either one of 'em anything you don't want me to tell 'em. Problem is, I got nothin' to tell you, either. I just don't know what to do for you."

"Shoot me." Bart was only half kidding. At least his stomach had settled down.

Doc Washburn chuckled. "Leastways you got a sense of humor about it. Well, come back and see me if anything gets worse."

Bart stood up and swayed slightly. Then he caught himself and was fine. "Okay Doc. Thanks anyway."

He left the office and headed back to the hotel. He was going to quietly sneak in and go back to bed for a while when Bret came down the stairs. "So that's why you didn't answer. Had me worried for a minute."

Bart looked at him and tried not to wince as he turned his head. "You didn't break down another door, did you Brother Bret?"

"No, I restrained myself. At least they didn't make me pay for the last one." He hadn't wasted any time destroying the door to get into Bart's room the night he and Beau found Bart. "Well, since you're up, how about some breakfast?"

Bart's stomach rolled slightly at the mention of food but settled down. "No, but I can have some tea."

Bret gave him a long, hard look. "Tea? Have you been spending too much time with Cousin Beau?"

Bart was quick with an answer. "Think I overdid it yesterday. Stomach's kinda fragile."

Bret slapped Bart on the back. "That happens to everybody once in a while. Everything else okay?"

"Sure," Bart lied. "Just a little tired. Think I'll take it easy today."

"Good idea. No more life threatening encounters."

Bart didn't feel like arguing with his brother. "No, no more life threatening encounters. Just some tea and rest."

They walked into the dining room together. As usual, Bret ordered enough food to feed two men. How did he do that, put all that food away this early in the morning? Bart opted for tea. Bret ate and told Bart how well the ledgers looked at the saloon. Bart let him talk and nodded every now and again so that Bret would think Bart was paying attention to him. Instead he was thinking about Beau and the complicated relationship he was developing with Georgia. In Bart's opinion that was headed nowhere but trouble if Beau decided he was in love with the woman. Why couldn't he get involved with some sweet young thing like Lettie, where nothing was expected from either side? He realized suddenly that Bret had stopped talking and was staring at him.

"You didn't hear a word, did you?"

"Sure I did. Ledgers. That's a word."

"Funny boy." That was the last thing that Bart remembered, hearing the same words from Bret's mouth that his first attacker had used right before the beating started. Everything around him went black. He lurched to his feet, dropped his cup and keeled over, right into Bret's arms.

Bret let out a yell and grabbed Bart, easing his body down to the floor. The waitress ran out from the back and Bret sent her to fetch Doc Washburn. By that time two other men had come into the dining room and they helped carry Bart's limp body back to his room, where, once again, Bret laid him gently on the bed. Because of all the noise and commotion Beau came running down the hall, still in his nightshirt and robe. As soon as he made the turn into Bart's room he asked Bret "What happened?" and Bret told him the whole story. By that time Doc had arrived and shooed them away from the bed. For the second time that morning he gave Bart a thorough going over and once again could find nothing amiss. Remembering the assurances he'd given Bart just an hour earlier he gave Bret and Beau as little information as possible. "Just did too much yesterday," he told them. "Keep him in bed and let him rest." With nothing further that Doc could do, he left to tend to his other patients.

"I'll stay here today," Bret volunteered.

"You can't. You've got the mayor and the town council coming in for a game at noon and they expect you to be their dealer. They arranged this meeting around your schedule. I'd stay here but Georgia needs me to help her make a decision between the new liquor suppliers that are coming by. I'll get dressed and go get Jody. She can spend the day here."

"Alright," Bret agreed. "But be back as soon as possible. I want somebody with him before we leave."

Beau returned to his room to dress. Bart moaned softly and Bret turned back to him. "Hey, son, how's the weather down there?"

"Cloudy with a chance of snow," Bart mumbled through closed eyes. "How's it where you are?"

Bret chuckled in spite of his concern. "Sunny and clear. You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

Bart's eyes remained closed. "Don't know. Told you I was shaky this morning."

"Yeah, there's a big difference between shaky and passed out. What do you remember?"

Bart didn't answer right away. When he did his voice was unsteady at best. "I remember you saying 'funny boy.' That's what I heard right before the beating started. I knew I had to get out of there and – "

"Never mind," Bret interrupted. All he could do was apologize. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I know that. I didn't remember until you said it. It's not your fault." Bart finally opened his eyes and Bret didn't like what he saw: that vacant, glassy eyed stare again.

Bret pulled a chair over to his brother's bedside. "How you feelin' now?"

"Better. Don't you have a big game to go run?"

"Nothin' that won't wait. You're more important, anyway."

Bart smiled slightly at that and his eyes seemed to focus. "Glad to know I stand ahead of the mayor."

"And the entire city council," Bret added. They sat and listened to the stillness for a minute. Then Bret spoke. And he was dead serious. "What aren't you tellin' me, little brother?" He hadn't called Bart 'little brother' for a long time, not since they were both in Camp Douglas during the war.

Bart was quietly evasive. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"No, I don't. There's nothin' to tell."

Bret wasn't buying what Bart was selling. "Try again, Bart. You didn't pass out because I said a couple words. What's wrong with you?"

Bart answered him truthfully but not completely. "I don't know, Bret. Neither does Doc Washburn."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

Bart sat up partway in bed and put two pillows behind him. Now he had a better line of sight to his brother. "Sorry, that's all there is to tell. I heard what you said and somethin' just clicked off inside. Next thing I knew I was back here in bed. I'm tellin' you the truth." Bart did a good job of selling that line to Bret, because the older Maverick brother gave up.

"Alright, I believe you. But you're not goin' anywhere today, hear? Beau went to get Jody to come stay with you." Bart groaned at the thought of poor Jody being forced to stay with him again. Really, how much could you ask of a young lady with a life of her own? And no relation to the invalid, save a friendship between her mother and his aunt?

"Forget it, little brother. Miss Jody is in charge, not you. You'll stay in bed and like it."

"I'd like it better if I wasn't alone."

Bret had to chuckle. That sounded like the brother he knew. "Anyone in particular in mind?"

"Well, there is that little blonde named Arlene at the saloon."

"Yeah, and she's got a great big boyfriend that works out at the Lazy W. Anybody else?"

Just for a moment a vision crossed Bart's mind. Tall, blonde and beautiful. Caroline. His late wife. Then it was gone. "Nope."

There was a knock at the door and then Beau opened it. Behind him stood Jody.

"Hi, Bartley." She loved calling Bart by his full name because she knew he hated it. "Heard you need a nursemaid again."

"No, I don't," Bart answered. "But these two seem to think I do."

"That's okay," Jody responded. "I don't have anything exciting to do."

"Then come on in," Bret interjected. "Because we sure don't have any excitement around here."


	16. Chapter 16 Promises to Keep

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 16 – Promises to Keep

In less than twenty four hours it was all over town that Bart had threatened to kill Edgar Pike. Everyone that came into the saloon was talking about it, and the sheriff even showed up to see Bret and Beau. Since neither of them told anyone about the previous day's visit to the JP ranch they assumed that the gossip came from Edgar himself.

Sheriff Bowman walked into the saloon with a chip on his shoulder. It was obvious that his investigation of the Maverick beating hadn't satisfied them, so they took matters into their own hands. So he went to put the fear of the Lord into them.

Bret was in the manager's office talking to Georgia about the month's receipts when Beau came to get him. "We've got a problem out front. Named Sheriff Mort Bowman. And he's not happy."

"About what?" Georgia asked before Bret could.

"About yesterday's visit to Pike."

She looked at Beau, then at Bret, then back at Beau. "You didn't say anything about going to see Edgar."

"My dear, I thought it best left unsaid."

Bret ignored the exchange and looked straight at Beau. "Has he heard?"

"Heard what?" Georgia interrupted.

Beau ignored her question, too. "He has."

"Oh my," Bret answered. "Well, I guess we better go get Bart out of the mess he's made."

"What mess?" Georgia was becoming agitated that both of them ignored her.

"We'll explain later," Beau finally addressed her unanswered questions.

Bret got up from his chair and both men left the room. Georgia sat there, frustrated that they'd brushed her aside so easily. They walked out to the front of the saloon and Bret offered his hand to the sheriff, who shook it and then said, "Mr. Maverick, I heard something disturbing today."

"Sheriff Bowman, why don't we sit down over there?" Bret pointed to an empty table away from the bar. "Would you like a drink?"

"No thank you," Bowman replied. "But I could stand some coffee if you've got some."

"Always, just like Jessie did." Beau signaled Harry over and he brought the pot and three cups.

Once the coffee was poured Bret turned his attention back to Mort Bowman. "Sheriff, what can we do for you?"

"I know that you weren't happy with the results of my investigation into your brother's beating. But I don't see why it was necessary to take things into your own hands."

Bret looked positively confused. "I'm sorry, Mort, what are we supposed to have done?"

Sheriff Bowman looked at Bret glumly. "You went and threatened to murder Edgar Pike."

Bret shook his head. "We, sheriff," he indicated Beau and himself, "did no such thing."

"That's right, Sheriff Bowman. We didn't speak to Mr. Pike," Beau added.

Mort Bowman made an unhappy sound as he looked from Bret to Beau. "Then your brother did."

"You know Mort, I was too far away to hear anything. I don't know what Bart may have said to him."

"As was I, Sheriff."

This was going nowhere fast. If it was the Mavericks intention to make Mort Bowman look like a fool they were well on their way to accomplishing just that. He wasn't going to let them get away with it. "Your brother Bart threatened to murder Edgar Pike."

"Now, sheriff, are you sure he threatened murder?" Bret asked innocently.

"Yes, don't you think he possibly said 'kill' rather than 'murder'?" Beau added, just as innocently.

They were playing with semantics. "I don't care which word you use, he threatened to make Edgar Pike DEAD." A thought suddenly occurred to Mort. "I thought you said neither one of you heard anything?"

"Oh, we didn't," Beau answered. "We're just guessing. People very often think 'murder' when they actually mean 'kill.'"

"There's no difference!" Mort shouted.

"Why sheriff, I'm surprised to hear you say that. There's a big difference between murdering something and killing something. I'm sure you know that," Bret added innocently.

Bowman was about to kill both of them. "The point is he made a threat against Edgar."

Bret tried one more thing. "Are you sure he didn't make a promise rather than a threat?"

Mort had enough of this nonsense. He stood up and pointed at them. "Here's the bottom line. If anything happens to Edgar Pike and he turns up dead Bart Maverick is the first person I'm coming to see. Is that clear enough?"

The cousins knew when they were defeated. "Yes, sir. We'll make sure that Edgar remains very much alive." Beau started to add "At least for now" but Bret stopped him.

Mort Bowman, sheriff of Silver Creek, having been totally humiliated by the Mavericks, turned on his heel and left. Bret and Beau burst out laughing and then stopped and looked at each other.

"Can we keep Bart out of trouble?" Bret asked seriously.

"Of course," Beau answered just as seriously. "We just have to make sure that Edgar stays alive."

"Could be a problem. He's not the most popular fella in town, you know."

"What's the alternative?"

Bret thought for just a moment. "Don't leave Bart alone. That way if something happens to Pike he'll be in the clear."

"He'll never speak to us again, you know."

"He'll be alive and well," Bret retorted. "I think you better go explain everything to Georgia. And have her tell Jody. We made need their help. He's not gonna be happy but that's not my concern right now. He's been through enough since we've been in this town and he doesn't need any more trouble. I just want him to be safe."

Beau nodded agreement and got up to return to Georgia's office. She wouldn't be pleased with him for withholding information but he hoped she would understand. Her feelings had become too important for him to ignore.

XXXXXXXX

Bart was not happy about having 'baby-sitters' again and let everyone know it. Bret tried to convince him it was for the best and it was his own fault anyway – if he hadn't threatened Edgar none of this would be happening.

There were no blinding headaches for two or three days and Bart started to relax a bit. Maybe his head was finally healing inside. He rested in bed another day and then decided that he needed to get away from everything for a bit, any amount of time, so a trip to Barker Corners was in order. The town was about one-third the size of Silver Creek and was only half a day's buggy ride away. Since Bret and Beau insisted that he not go alone and Jody had committed to doing something at the church in town, Georgia volunteered to go with him. She had a friend in Barker Corners and welcomed the distraction. The relationship with Beau was becoming increasingly complicated and she thought they could use some time apart.

On a Tuesday morning Bart walked over to the livery stable and picked up the buggy, then drove to Georgia's to collect her and her suitcase. The trip to the little town was pleasant; the day was bright and sunny and although there was more than a hint of fall in the air it was still warm enough to be enjoyable. When they arrived Bart dropped Georgia off at her friend's house, left the horse and buggy at the livery and checked into the hotel. It felt good to be someplace different, after all the time spent in one town. Bart didn't realize how much he missed being a 'roving' gambler until he'd been away from it for a while. It was exciting and stimulating to know that he had a whole afternoon and evening to himself and that he wouldn't see Georgia again until the next day. He almost felt good. The ringing in his ears had begun to fade in intensity and the ache in his head was as dull as it had been in weeks. So when he walked into the Barker Saloon and Gambling Hall he didn't anticipate any trouble.

He'd found a poker game easily enough and his skills, while not as sharp as they usually were, were more than adequate to handle the local players. He'd been at it for several hours when he noticed a man at the bar watching him. He paid little attention at first but kept an eye open just in case and was wondering who the man was and why he looked familiar. There was something about him that didn't sit well with Bart.

The cowboy continued to watch him on and off for another hour or so before finishing his drink and leaving. Bart racked his brain trying to place him but simply couldn't. They'd probably played poker against each other at some point and that would explain the familiarity. Once he left Bart didn't give it another thought.

The cowboy, whose name was Pete Sanborn, left the saloon and went straight to a little cabin outside of town. There he met with his brother Jack and their friend Rusty Meyers. Pete was quite agitated by his long distance encounter with Bart and needed to talk to the other two men.

"I tell ya, it was him," Pete insisted once he got inside. Jack was skeptical and Rusty downright didn't believe him.

"It couldn't be," Rusty answered. "Edgar paid me to get him out of the way and that's what I did."

"You mighta put him down but you sure didn't take him out," Pete insisted. "I'm tellin' ya, it was him. Same guy – thinner, looked older than he did before, but the same guy."

Rusty shook his head. "With the pistol whippin' I gave him, no way should he still be alive. Much less walkin' around here in town."

"I'm tellin' ya, he's alive and in the saloon playin' cards."

"You been drinkin'?'" Jack asked.

"One crummy drink," Pete defended himself. "If ya don't believe me, go see for yerself."

Rusty thought about it a minute, and then shot back, "Okay, I will." He pulled on a coat, went outside and mounted Pete's horse. Ten minutes later he walked into the saloon in town and went straight to the bar. He ordered whiskey and then snuck a glance at the poker game going on in the corner._ 'Son of a gun'_ Rusty thought. _'It __is__ Maverick. I thought for sure I killed him. Tough bastard._' He wasn't taking any chances. He kept his back turned to the game and the first time that Bart's attention was somewhere else he hightailed it out of the saloon. He rode like a maniac back to the cabin and burst through the door. "Jesus, Pete, you were right. It was Maverick. Let's get out of here before he can spot us."

With that they packed their meager belongings and left. Time to find out if Edgar Pike wanted the job finished.


	17. Chapter 17 The Road Home

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 17 – The Road Home

Ah, poker! A drink for the thirsty, food for the hungry, a balm for the psyche. At least to one man in particular. Sitting in a saloon, up all night smoking cigars, winning more hands than you lost, no one to make sure you stayed healthy, wealthy or wise. Freedom from everyone and everything. Bart Maverick hadn't felt this alive in months. And when dawn came and everyone but him was finally tired enough to quit, he was over a thousand dollars ahead and had reclaimed his soul. This was what he'd needed all along! He went back to his hotel a happy man. If he hurried he had enough time to shave, change clothes and eat breakfast before he picked up Georgia Mayfield. He had no idea that trouble named Rusty Meyers would soon pay him an unexpected visit.

He ate like a man left starving in the desert for weeks. For once he understood where Bret managed to put all that food and he enjoyed every bit of it. He was so pleased with himself that he was even humming as he went to the livery stable and collected the buggy. When he pulled up in front of the house where he'd left Georgia there wasn't a happier, more content man on earth. Things were finally looking up. When Georgia opened the door and said good-bye to her friend Cindy she was surprised to find him in such high spirits. He opened the gate, took her small case and loaded it on the buggy, then helped her climb aboard with a smile and a flourish of his hand. He made her laugh.

"Really, Bart, are you that happy to see me or just that happy?" she asked as they started off towards Silver Creek.

"It's a beautiful day to be alive, Georgia Mayfield, and for once I'm glad I am!" The ringing in his ears had stopped and there were no headaches this morning. He was happier than she'd seen him in months and she wondered what had caused this great change. She was almost afraid to ask.

"Is there some reason for this change of heart that I should know about?"

"Nope." Was that the only answer that she was going to get out of him? He drove on, smiling and humming and it made her wonder just what the young, good looking man had been up to all night. But she decided that was his business and she had no right to intrude. They'd only gone a few miles when she had another question to ask him.

"Can I talk to you about your cousin?" There was a serious tone in her voice and she really needed a non-judgmental sounding board.

"Sure." His standard answer but it sounded sincere.

She wasn't sure how much he knew; Beau was close-mouthed when it came to revealing private matters. "You know that we've been spending time together?"

"That's pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"On a fairly regular basis?"

Bart let out a little chuckle. "That's pretty obvious, too."

Georgia was hesitant to go much further. "How do you feel about that?"

His answer was thoughtful. "I don't want either one of you to get hurt."

"Do you think we're going to?"

Bart hesitated before answering. "Yes."

Georgia was curious. "Why?"

She waited a long time for Bart to answer. "Because you're not the kind of woman he needs. You're sober, settled, established in life. Beau's still restless. He likes to travel too much. One morning he's gonna wake up and need to be gone. And you can't go with him."

Georgia was stunned by the depth of his insight. She hadn't thought about those things. She'd given her relationship with Beau a lot of thought but never in the terms that Bart had just outlined to her. He put everything in a new light and she wanted to look at it that way. Maybe it wasn't a good thing, after all.

She was quiet for a long time and finally Bart asked, "Was that too serious for you? I wanted to be honest."

"No," Georgia answered. "I asked because I wanted to know what you think."

The buggy pushed on in silence for a few minutes and finally Georgia asked, "Have you discussed this with Bret?"

"No, Beau's relationships really aren't any of our business. I just don't want to see him hurt."

"And you're sure I'll hurt him?" _'Cards all in now,'_ Georgia thought.

"Eventually, yes. The day he realizes he needs to leave."

Georgia had finally heard someone tell her the things she didn't want to hear. The things that made her unhappy. The things she knew were true. There wasn't any more to say.

XXXXXXXX

Rusty, Pete and Jack had ridden as hard as they could back towards Silver Creek the night before. Dawn was just breaking as they reached the JP ranch. Pete and Jack hid out in the overgrown brush down by the real Silver Creek and Rusty went to the ranch house. Even though the sun had just risen, Edgar Pike was already sitting out on the porch listening to the roosters' crow.

He didn't move when Rusty rode up but the expression on his face changed to one of displeasure. He assumed he'd seen the last of Meyers when the job to permanently dispose of one of the Mavericks was botched. He'd had to live with the result of the mess that Meyers and the Sanborns made for months now, and his very existence had been threatened by that unresolved issue.

Rusty got down off his horse and walked up to the piece of porch that Pike was sitting on. "Mornin'" he offered to Edgar, who only grunted back.

"Saw something last night in Barkers Corners that was upsetting." Pike still didn't say anything. "That Maverick feller playin' poker, lookin' just as fit as a fiddle. Real disappointed to find him still alive. Came to see if you wanted me to rectify the situation."

Edgar snorted in derision. "Rectify the situation? You mean the situation you and your cronies botched? What makes you think I'd trust you to rectify the situation?"

"Look, Pike, it was a mistake. Any normal man would have been dead. Should have been dead. That's why we came back, to see if you still wanted the job finished."

"Do you have any idea what my life has been like since you failed to do the job I paid you for? I've been a prisoner here in my own home. I can't go anywhere in Silver Creek without having to listen to everybody talk about 'what a brave lad' Maverick was and how lucky he was to be alive. Lucky! Huh! Stupid, is what it was. And stupid is what you were. You shoulda' made sure he was dead. And now you wanna rectify the situation? For more money, no doubt."

The thought of asking for more money hadn't occurred to Rusty, but now that Pike brought it up he was certainly agreeable to it. "Well, yeah, if we have to take the risk all over again. Him or one a the other ones?"

Edgar had heard enough. "Get out of here, you imbecile! I'm not giving you another cent. You didn't finish the job the first time. Leave me alone before I turn you and those other idiots in to the sheriff!"

Never threaten a violent man, and that's just what Pike had done. All sort of things went through Rusty's head, but the most important was that Edgar Pike's continued existence was now a threat to his life and freedom. Without saying another word he mounted his horse and went back to the creek where the Sanborns waited for him. They had some planning to do.

XXXXXXXX

The remainder of the trip back to Silver Creek was uneventful. Bart and Georgia talked about everything but Beau. Finally Bart opened up to someone about his late wife, Caroline, and told her the whole story, until the day he left the Double C ranch. He deliberately omitted the immediately following six month period and finally revealed his return to New Mexico and his encounter with Bret. When he was done they were just outside Silver Creek.

"That's quite some story, Bart," Georgia told him quietly. "Have you been back to the ranch since?"

"Nope," he answered just as quietly. "I've written to Samantha and gotten letters from her several times, but no visits." There was a long pause before he added "I'm afraid to go back, Georgia. I don't know what I'd do if I came face-to-face with Caroline's grave." He stopped the buggy in front of "The Three Mavericks" saloon and hung his head for a moment. "I saw her, you know. The night of the -"He struggled for just the right word "– incident. She was there, sometime during the night. I wanted to go with her, but she wouldn't let me. She told me to listen to Bret and follow him instead." Here there was a very long pause. "So I did what she told me to do. I stayed with Bret." He looked up at her and for a moment there were tears in his eyes and a pleading in his voice. "Did I do the right thing?"

Georgia reached over and took his right hand, the hand with the pinky ring on it. "Yes, you did," she told him gently. "Bret and Beau would be lost without you." He brightened back up at that and got down out of the buggy. He helped Georgia out and stood there with her. "Thanks." He looked her in the eyes and for a moment saw what Beau had seen the day they kissed. Warmth and understanding and sympathy. And Bart was grateful for her friendship and support.


	18. Chapter 18 A Picture's Worth 1,000 Words

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 18 – A Picture's Worth 1,000 Words

It was a simple plan, really. Edgar Pike had sealed his fate the morning he threatened Rusty Meyers. Now it was just a matter of carrying it out. And making sure that the right person got blamed for it.

Rusty wasn't a bright man. He was violent, brutal, cunning, larcenous, vicious, deadly and stubborn. But he was unusually good at planning and carrying out nefarious acts, and what he was planning was illegal. Very illegal. He needed to guarantee that Edgar Pike's rash threat to turn him and his cohorts in to the sheriff never materialized. And the only way to guarantee that was the aforementioned act. Murder.

Of course Rusty had no intention of getting caught and getting hanged for the crime. As he saw it, that was totally unnecessary. Unnecessary because he had the perfect patsy. The man that Pike had paid him to kill. Bart Maverick.

Rusty, Pete and Jack hung around Silver Creek for several days, talking to everyone they could and gathering all the information they needed to plot and plan the deed and its aftermath. They heard all about the brutal attack, the lengthy struggle to heal, and the long lasting effects suffered by the victim. They watched all the Mavericks surreptitiously, noting their comings and goings and how often and when the youngest Maverick was most often alone. And they mapped out their vile plan, step by step, down to the smallest detail. Then it was just a matter of watching and waiting for the right moment to present itself.

That moment came to pass almost a week later, on a night when there was no moon and an unsettling fog had rolled in to the town. They watched as Bart exited 'The Three Mavericks', accompanied by his older brother, and went back to the hotel. A few minutes later the brother returned to the saloon alone. Rusty immediately left town and rode out to Pike's ranch as fast as his horse could carry him. There he snuck stealthily across the porch and burst through the front door. Edgar practically appeared to be expecting him; he was sitting in front of the fire staring into the flames and was unarmed. He jumped from his chair and attempted to escape, but Meyers was on him in seconds and put a bullet through his heart. Then he proceeded to pistol whip the body, much as he had done to Bart. A few minutes and he was gone the way he came, but the last thing he saw before he left the room he took with him. He removed the picture of the four Maverick children from the mantel.

He took the same route back, again as fast as his poor mount could manage. When he arrived at the appointed meeting place Pete and Jack were ready and waiting for him. The three of them traveled quietly into town and left their horses a block away from the back alley entrance to the hotel. Jack snuck through the back door and went around to the front desk, where the hotel clerk was supposed to be stationed. The clerk, however, had stolen off to the back room for his normal prohibited nap. Sanborn stole the key to room 214 and snuck up the stairs quietly. At the top landing he met Pete and Rusty and they used the stolen key to open Bart's door. Maverick was asleep and Rusty once again used his gun butt to bash him over the back of the head, then proceeded to roll him onto the floor. Jack and Pete helped him dress the unconscious gambler and switched Rusty's gun for the one in Maverick's holster. They left the gun belt and holster splayed on the floor and the gun in Bart's hand. For a few final touches they opened the window and tipped a chair over. They dropped Bart's hat on the floor and knocked a lamp off the table, making it look as if someone had re-entered the room through the window. For the coup de grâce Rusty hid the stolen picture under Bart's saddlebags. Their staging done, Rusty and Pete locked the door to 214 and slipped out the back entrance of the hotel. Jack stole back downstairs and left the room key where he'd found it. Operation complete.

XXXXXXXX

The next morning Beau knocked on Bart's door and, when there was no immediate answer, used the spare room key to unlock it. He found Bart sprawled on the floor, much as he and Bret had found him months earlier. He rushed to Bart's side to make sure there was no blood anywhere before scrambling back to his feet and running down the hall to Bret's room. He knocked urgently twice and as soon as the elder Maverick opened the door Beau desperately whispered "Bart's down. Come quick." They both ran through the hall and Beau pushed open the door again. Bart was on the floor moaning softly and Bret and Beau got him into bed. It was quite a scene – Bart fully dressed with a gun in his hand, personal belongings strewn across the floor, the window open and obviously used as a way in or out. Bart continued to moan but it was apparent that he was slowly coming to. Bret sat on the bed next to him and Beau took the chair. "Bart, Bart, wake up," Bret pleaded with him.

Slowly Bart's eyes opened. He looked at Bret, then Beau, and was thoroughly disoriented. "What happened?" he asked both of them.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Bret answered. "You were ready to go to bed when I left. Did you go somewhere? Did somebody get in? You have your gun in your hand."

"What? My gun?" Bart looked at the gun still clutched in his hand. "That's not my gun."

Beau got up and looked around the room. He picked the empty gun belt up off the floor and brought it back to the bed. "That's the only one here. There's no gun in your holster."

Bart strained to sit up. "I don't care. That's not my gun."

Bret took it from his hand. "Looks like there's blood on it. And on your hand."

Beau looked directly at Bret. "Where did it come from? And where's Bart's gun?"

"Wait a minute," Bart protested. "I was in bed asleep. How did I get dressed?"

"You weren't dressed?" Bret queried.

"I was in bed asleep. I usually don't go to sleep dressed."

"Usually?" Beau asked.

"Come on," Bart offered. "We've all laid down and slept when we were dressed. But not last night. I was in my nightshirt. I might forget what I'm doing sometimes but I didn't go to bed fully dressed."

Just as Bret was about to say something there was a pounding on the door. In a booming voice Mort Bowman demanded, "Bart Maverick! Open the door!"

Beau stood and opened the door. "Sheriff, you don't have to shout."

Mort walked in and looked from one Maverick to the other. From Beau to Bret. Then he spotted Bart sitting up in the bed and looked him right in the eyes. "Bart Maverick, you're under arrest for the murder of Edgar Pike."


	19. Chapter 19 The Walls Close In

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Sorry to everyone out there. I got my chapters mixed up. This is Chapter 19 and I will re-post Chapter 20

Chapter 19 – The Walls Close In

It didn't matter what was said or done by any of the Mavericks, Mort Bowman was single minded in his determination to arrest Edgar Pike's murderer. From the moment that Edgar's ranch foreman had ridden frantically into town with news of the shooting until Mort arrived at the door to room 214 he had only one thing in mind – as promised, he was going to arrest Bart Maverick for the crime. After walking into Maverick's hotel room and announcing the arrest, he hauled Bart out of there in handcuffs and handed him over to Deputy Willis. Then he ran the rest of the troublesome family out of the room and closed the door behind them. It was time to investigate before any evidence could be destroyed.

He'd already seen and made note of the fact that Bart had blood on his hands. Not a lot, but enough. There was blood on the handle of the pistol that he picked up from the bed, and an empty gun belt and holster on the floor where Beau had dropped it. The bed was mostly intact, as if it hadn't been slept in.

Mort bent down to pick up the hat from the floor and replaced the broken lamp on the table. Then he walked over to the wide open window and closed it. As he turned back from the window he saw the corner of something sticking out under the saddle bags and stopped to retrieve it. He studied it carefully and realized he had the photo that everyone in town knew Edgar kept on his mantel over the fireplace – the picture of Jessie and her three brothers. He smiled in grim satisfaction. Maverick had extracted his revenge in the form of murder. Mort was ready to go back to his office and deal with the chaos he expected – he was sure he had arrested the right man.

XXXXXXXX

The sheriff of Silver Creek was absolutely correct – there was chaos at the jail. Bret and Beau had followed Deputy Willis as he took Bart to a cell. Georgia had come from her house and brought Jody with her. Attorney Foster had arrived and the JP foreman, Burt Felton, was still there. The only one not talking was Bart, who sat quietly in his jail cell and looked bewildered. When Mort Bowman finally returned to his office he made everyone except Bret, Beau and Hiram Foster leave. Foster he let into the cell to confer with the prisoner and Bret and Beau followed him back to his desk.

"What happened? Why did you arrest my brother?" This obviously from Bret.

Mort looked at the two Mavericks' and stated rather quietly, "Edgar Pike was pistol whipped and shot to death last night. In his own home. I arrested your brother for his murder." He paused and then continued, "Just like I told you I would."

Bret started to protest and Beau stopped him. "Tell me, sheriff, what evidence do you have against Bart?"

A small, smug smile played around the edges of Bowman's countenance. "Plenty," he answered.

Again, Beau asked "Besides your suspicions?"

Mort replaced the look on his face with a stern expression. "You mean besides the fact that your cousin already threatened to kill the man? And that he had blood on his gun and his hands? And the indisputable proof that I found in that hotel room? You mean that evidence?"

Bret and Beau both caught the phrase 'indisputable proof' and wondered just what Mort had found after he put them out of the room. The sheriff wasn't going to provide them with any further information, however, and turned towards the cell. "Mr. Foster, you have ten minutes with your client. Then I need to get some paperwork done on the case. You can come back later today." He turned back to Bret and Beau. "And you two can go with him. Don't come back until this afternoon."

Beau stood up as if to depart but Bret stayed seated. "I'm not leaving without talking to my brother."

Hiram Foster stood up inside the cell. "Mr. Maverick, I have enough to get started. You may take my place." He turned to Bart as Mort came over to the cell with the keys. "Don't answer any questions, Bart. I'll be back this afternoon and we'll go over everything. It will be fine."

Mort let the attorney out of the cell and let Bret in, then locked the cell door. He stood there for a moment, waiting to hear what the brothers had to say to each other. Bret stared at the sheriff until Mort finally returned to his desk out front. Bret sat down next to Bart on the cot.

"Bart, what do you remember?"

Bart attempted to shake his head but the headache was back. "Not much. You left me at the hotel. I changed clothes and went to bed, to sleep. I woke up this morning with you and Beau in the room and my head killing me. That's all."

"You didn't wake up during the night and go somewhere?"

"No, Bret. I already told you that. I didn't get dressed and leave my room. Not by the door, not by the window. And I don't know what happened to my gun and where the one you found came from." His voice was firm but his eyes were pleading. Did he have another blackout? He hadn't had one in weeks. Thank God Bret didn't know about them.

"Settle down there, Brother Bart. I believe you. We need more information, and you don't have any. Beau and I need to do some investigating of our own. Beau can go talk to Hiram and see what he can tell us. I'm going out to talk to Foster. I want to know when and how the body was found and snoop around a bit. I'll be back this afternoon." Bret took a good look at Bart and his stomach turned over. His brother looked tired, haggard, and defeated. He was ready to do anything to make him feel better, or at least hopeful. "When have I ever not had your back? I'll find out what really happened and this will all be over." He put his hand on Bart's arm and squeezed. Bart looked up slightly and forced a wan smile.

"I know you will, Bret. My life depends on it."

XXXXXXXX

Bret rode out to the JP ranch and was surprised when he got to the gate that Edgar had erected at the edge of the ranch. The gate was standing wide open and all of the "**Trespassers Keep Out" **signs were gone. He rode through the gate and on to the ranch house. He dismounted and went to look for Burt Felton, who was working with a colt in the corral. Bret leaned against the fence and watched the foreman deftly maneuver the colt around the enclosure for a few minutes. Then Felton saw Bret and walked over. "Mr. Felton, I'd like to talk to you if you have a few minutes."

Burt looked at him skeptically for a moment and then nodded. "You're Mavericks brother, ain't ya?' he asked.

"Yes, I'm Bart Maverick's brother. I understand that you found Edgar this morning?"

"That's right. Went over to the house right after sun up and didn't get no answer, so I walked on in. Found Mr. Pike beat somethin' awful and dead as could be. Didn't waste no time, rode straight into town and got Sheriff Mort." He looked at Bret with a somewhat puzzled countenance. "Can't say as I blame yer brother, Pike wasn't no picnic to work for. 'Bout half the hands quit after Miz Jessie died, the rest of 'em and me been takin' care a things all these months. Like I said, he wasn't no picnic. Course there's always ways to take care of a man without killin' him."

Bret didn't disagree with that. There's always a better way to make a man pay a debt than talking his life. He knew that Beau and Bart believed that, too. "If it's not too much trouble, can you show me just where you found him?"

Felton nodded again and left the corral. He led Bret up to the house and through the front door. Maverick stopped and looked at the door carefully. It had been opened forcibly, either kicked or pushed in. Was Bart strong enough to do that? Under normal circumstances, sure. Bart's physical condition could hardly be called normal the last few months, however. Still, that wasn't enough to cause Mort Bowman to look for a different killer.

Bret continued into the main area of the house. One of the chairs by the fire was tipped over on the floor and there was blood all over it. Obviously where Edgar had been sitting when his intruder burst in. Bret glanced up to the mantel and stopped in his tracks. The photo he'd examined of his father, uncles and aunt was gone. He looked around the room for it but it was nowhere to be seen. It hadn't left by itself; why would someone take a photo of the Mavericks? Bart hadn't ever seen it; could he actually have been here to murder Edgar? And what, take the photo with him? Why?

Something wasn't right. He had to ask Burt about the photo. "Mr. Felton, you know the picture that Edgar kept on his mantel? That picture of Jessie as a little girl with her brothers?"

"Yep," Burt answered. "Everybody knows that picture. Pike said that was the only one he had of Jessie."

"Was it here this morning when you found the body?"

Felton rubbed his chin and tried to remember. "Ya know, I don't think so. I don't remember seeing it since the last time I was in here."

"Thanks," Bret told him. "That's all I need." He walked back out of the little house. Once outside he shook Felton's hand and once again told him "Thanks for your time. I appreciate it."

"Sure hope yer brother gets off. Don't seem right to hang a man after what got done to him."

Strange logic there somewhere. Bret wasn't going to try to figure out a man whose mind seemed to run in circles. He mounted his horse and turned towards Silver Creek. He needed to see if Beau had learned any more from Hiram Foster.


	20. Chapter 20 Spinning in Place

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Sorry to Everyone Out There. I got my chapters mixed up. Please go back and read Chapter 19 and then 20

Chapter 20 – Spinning in Place

Beau didn't have any luck with Hiram Foster. The attorney didn't know anything that Bart hadn't already told his family. He left Foster's office baffled, not knowing where to turn next. Out of habit he started down the street towards the saloon, but when he passed Doc Washburn's office the good doctor pulled him inside and closed the door.

"Got to talk to you," Doc told him in a conspiratorial tone of voice. "Heard about Bart gettin' arrested. Damn shame, that, though there wasn't much worth to Edgar as a human being after Jessie died. Sorry about the way everything's gone down. Need to find out if Bart's still havin' those headaches and blackouts."

Beau sat down heavily into one of Doc's chairs. "What headaches and blackouts?"

The doctor looked Beau right in the eyes and asked "You mean he didn't tell you?"

Beau shook his head. "He didn't tell us anything. What's been going on?"

Doc sank into the chair next to Beau. He shook his head unhappily. "I knew he was keepin' everything to himself. Shouldn't 'a done that. You an Bret had a right to know. Now where's that gotten him?"

"Right to know what?" Beau asked with more than a tone of exasperation in his voice.

The doctor hesitated before answering. There was no reason to keep the secret now that it appeared Bart had cracked under the pressure and pain. "He's been havin' headaches and blackouts for a long time. Came in to see me weeks ago, you know, right before he collapsed that last time. Couldn't find anything wrong with him and gave him some aspirin in case. Haven't seen him since."

"Tell me more, Doctor. Explain the blackouts to me."

Dr. Washburn looked at Beau carefully. "You seem to be a bright young man. Remember when you came by and asked me about how long he'd been unconscious? What I didn't tell you was the longer he was out the more chance there was of him not comin' back exactly the same. Some weeks later it looked like that's just what happened. He had continuous ringing in his ears and bad headaches right before the blackouts started. He only talked to me about one of 'em but he could've had plenty more after that. He missed almost a whole night during that first one. Couldn't remember where he'd been or what he'd done. Seemed real determined not to let you or his brother in on what was happenin' to him. Said you both had enough worries of your own and he didn't wanna add to that."

'_Bart,_' Beau thought to himself, _'why didn't you tell us?' _He turned to Doc Washburn and asked, "Is that all? Is there anything else he chose not to share with us?"

"Nope, not that he told me about. Does it put a different light on things? Help him out, maybe?"

Beau shook his head in despair. "No, Doctor, I'm afraid that it hurts more than it helps. We found Bart unconscious on the floor this morning, fully dressed, and he doesn't know how he got there."

"Doesn't know or can't remember?" Doc Washburn asked.

"Is there a difference?"

"Maybe," replied the doctor. "Let me know what he tells you when you see him. I might be able to help. In the meantime, what I told you is confidential. I'm not volunteerin' anything to Mort Bowman. He's too quick to make up his mind about things for my likin' anyway."

Beau shook Doc Washburn's hand and said "Thanks, Doc. I'll be around soon."

XXXXXXXX

Bret and Beau met in Bret's hotel room. They didn't intend to share their acquired knowledge with anyone that might overhear and spread the informtion like wildfire.

Bret told Beau everything that he'd learned at Edgar's house, including his observations about the door being kicked in and the photo being gone. They tended to agree that Bart wasn't strong enough to do that kind of damage to the heavy wooden door Edgar had; they were more concerned with who might have done the damage. The photo had them both stumped.

"I'm telling you, Beau, there's no way that Bart would have been thinking straight enough to take that picture if he was crazy enough to kick in Pike's door. We're missing something here and I don't know what it is. Who hated Edgar enough to kill him? And kill him like that?"

"I don't know," Beau replied. "Here's the problem –" and Beau explained everything to Bret just the way Doc Washburn told him. Bret was hurt and disappointed that Bart had chosen not to share his ongoing pain with them but understood his brother's rationale. This life in Silver Creek was different than anything they'd ever experienced and there was no sense burdening the people you cared most about with things they couldn't change. Unfortunately, the news of Bart's blackouts brought another issue to light – could Bart have gone out to kill Pike?

The cousins sat for several minutes in silence, each with his own thoughts. Neither wanted to believe for a moment that Bart was capable of such an act of violence, and yet . . . . yet each had doubts. And neither wanted to admit to those doubts. Finally Bret broke the silence.

"This is crazy. I don't care what was happening to him – Bart couldn't have done this. We both know that. So let's find out who did and get this nightmare over."

"Good idea. You go back and talk to Bart. Tell him what Doc Washburn told me. Let him explain it. I'm going down to the saloon to see what I can find out down there. And to let Georgia know what's going on – or at least part of it. I'll not divulge what the good doctor told me. The less people who know about that, the better."

They parted company, Bret headed up to the jail and Beau headed down to the saloon, each determined to find something to clear Bart. Anything to clear Bart.

XXXXXXXX

Rusty, Pete and Jack sat in 'The Three Mavericks' and two of the three felt quite pleased with themselves. True, they hadn't gotten any additional money out of Edgar. But he was gone and could no longer threaten to turn them over to the sheriff. They were in the clear for the murder, having successfully framed an innocent man. And the only man that could identify them was the one locked in a jail cell. So they were feeling pretty good about their chances of getting away with it all. So good that they sat in the Mavericks' very own saloon and drank. They saw Beau walk in and head for the manager's office. He became to topic of conversation.

"I'm tellin' ya, Rusty, we picked the wrong Maverick to try and kill. We shoulda picked that one. I bet ya he woulda stayed dead." Pete was feeling no pain as he prodded Rusty into admitting their failure at killing Bart.

"Yeah, you're probably right. He don't look near as tough as the other one. Ain't never seen no man take a beatin' like that and live. Think I'm losin' my touch, boys?" This was Rusty's response to Pete's remarks.

Jack Sanborn didn't have much to say. This whole thing had bothered him from the beginning. They'd pulled plenty of jobs before, but never one this vicious. And for what? A lousy two hundred dollars. They'd darn near beat a man to death, and now Rusty had killed another and framed the first man. And now they sat in another saloon plotting their next job. What kind of a life was this? Wondering if they'd picked the wrong man to kill?

"What's a matter, Jack?" asked his brother Pete. "Bet you think we picked the wrong Maverick too, don't ya? Ya wanna go after the pretty boy that just walked in? Maybe we'd have better luck?" Pete started laughing, a drunken laugh, and Jack couldn't take it anymore. He got up from the table and walked out of the saloon, out into the crisp night air. There had to be something better than this. He didn't know what or how, but he had to find a way out of this life.


	21. Chapter 21 I See Said the Blind Man

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 21 – I See Said the Blind Man

Bart lay on his cot in the jail cell and stared at the wall. How had he gotten here? Why had he ridden all the way out to Edgar Pike's ranch just to threaten to kill the man? When he had no intention of actually doing it? How ironic that he was now under arrest for that very murder. He had to laugh to himself. This sure wasn't his idea of justice.

Just a day ago he'd been feeling better about everything. His wounds seemed to finally be healing, both inside and out. There was a pretty little redhead at the saloon who seemed to light up whenever she saw him, and she'd caught his eye, too. Georgia had become a close and trusted friend and seemed to understand the only part she could play in Beau's life. Beau seemed more at peace, less restless than he'd been. Jody was almost like a little sister to him, and he felt himself enjoying the big brother role, for once. Only Bret seemed ill at ease, and only occasionally. It felt like he was waiting for something to happen and he wasn't sure if it was going to be good or bad. Guess this answered that question.

Had he killed Pike? That was the uncertainty that kept hammering at his brain. He hadn't experienced a blackout for several days but that didn't preclude having another one. Is that what happened last night? Or did something else transpire? Something that he didn't understand or have the answer for. And how was he ever going to find out while locked in this jail cell?

"Hi, Bartley." He knew Jody's voice and didn't have to turn around to hear her smiling at him. He sat up anyway and turned to face her. "What are you doing here?" was his first question to her.

"I wanted to see you."

"Well, here I am, kid. Take a good look at what clean living will do for you."

"Don't say that," she immediately shot back. "You don't deserve to be here. You didn't do anything wrong."

He tried to make her understand. "Didn't I? I wish I was that sure." How could he explain it to her?

Jody was quiet for a minute, then she beckoned him over to the front of the jail cell. "Come over here for a minute."

He sighed. She stood there and waited. He finally got up off the cot and walked over to her. She reached through the bars of the cell and took his hands, then looked at him as if daring him to lie to her. "There's something you're not telling us, isn't there?" How did this little girl manage to sense what others hadn't?

He couldn't lie. "Yes."

"And it would hurt you if we knew?"

"It might." How much should he tell her? How much could he tell her? Did he trust her with his life?

She let go of his hands. "Then don't tell us." Quietly she continued, "You've been hurt enough."

He stood there and looked at her, grateful for her affection and belief in him. "Jody – "

She stopped him before he could finish. "Uncle Edgar was an awful man. He was mean and spiteful and made Aunt Jessie miserable for years. And she still loved him. And he was probably the person that tried to have you killed. If anyone deserved to die, it was him." She paused for just a moment. "But I know that you didn't kill him. Because you're not the same kind of man he was. You're a good man. No matter what it is that you haven't told us. So just trust us, we'll find a way to set you free."

When Jody was finished she realized someone was standing behind her. "I couldn't have said it better myself, Jody," Bret told her.

She blushed and turned to leave. "I'm sure you two need to talk." She looked up at Bret. "Be kind."

"I have to be. He's the only brother I've got." Pause, then "Pappy's not inclined to make more."

Jody giggled and departed. Bret watched her leave the jail, then turned to Bart. "How ya doin'?"

"You mean besides the fact that my skull feels like it was split wide open again? Just dandy."

Bret looked at his brother seriously. "Got anything you want to share?" He turned around and motioned in Deputy Willis, who had the cell keys in his hand. "Willis, I need some privacy with Bart."

Willis came over to the jail cell. "Sheriff told me not to let anybody in but Mr. Foster."

"I'm not anybody, Willis. I'm his brother. Let me in."

The deputy unlocked the cell door and then re-locked it after Bret entered. "Shoot, what Mort don't know won't hurt him." He went back out to his desk in front. Bret turned to Bart, who had reclaimed his seat on the cot. "Now, about that question I asked."

Bart looked at his brother. "Nope." That was Bart's standard answer when he didn't want to discuss something.

"Not accepting that for an answer this time."

That was a new one. Normally when Bart answered "Nope" to one of Bret's questions, the older brother allowed the younger brother his privacy. Not this time. There was too much at stake.

There was still silence. Bart got up and wandered over to stare out the window in the cell. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Bret knew this must be hard for Bart to talk about. So he tried again. "Doc Washburn talked to Beau. It wasn't the first time they've spoken. Doc shared some information with Beau that we need to discuss."

Bart's voice was angry. "He shouldn't have done that. He didn't have any right."

Bret walked over to his brother, put his hands on Bart's shoulders and turned him around. Now Bart had to look him in the face if he was going to lie.

"He's trying to protect you, Bart. He thought that we needed to know."

Bart shook his head. His voice was less angry. "He still shouldn't have done it."

Bret looked at the man in front of him. Things must be worse than Doc thought for Bart to be so reluctant to talk. "He's not gonna tell the sheriff. Mort jumps to conclusions." Bret looked around the cell, making his point.

Bart pulled away from Bret and sat back down. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you're willing to tell me."

"What did Doc tell Beau?"

Bret calmly and patiently reiterated everything he knew. When he finished Bart sat silently for a moment, and then quietly told Bret, "That's not the half of it." He went over all of it in detail: the blinding headaches, the constant caterwauling in his head, the irrational nightmares, the blackouts. And when he was through the only thing Bret wanted to do was put his arms around his brother and comfort him. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked instead.

"Because I didn't want to see that look in your eyes."

Bret didn't understand. "What look?"

"That look of pity you gave me when I was sick as a kid."

Ah. Now it made sense. "Why didn't you tell Beau?"

"Beau's got a bigger problem than me. Georgia's in love with him."

Bret snorted a laugh. "Yeah, the only one that doesn't know that is Beau." He sat down on the cot next to Bart. "Cousin Beau's a big boy. He can handle it."

Bart shook his head carefully. The headache was still there. "When have you ever seen Beau handle something like that?"

"Tell me the truth. Did you have another blackout?"

"Honestly?" Bart looked at Bret and there was nothing but truth in his eyes. " I don't know. I didn't have one for a while. I was really feeling better." He reached up and held his head. "Until this morning." He turned his head away from his brother. "Do you think I could have killed him?"

Just a small moment of hesitation. "No." But Bart heard the hesitation and turned back toward his brother. "You're not sure, are you?"

Bret wasn't certain he could make Bart understand. "My brother Bart could not have killed Edgar Pike in cold blood. Period." He hoped this would make sense. "The man having blackouts might have been able to. Probably not, but maybe." He watched Bart and waited for his reaction. There was none.

They sat side by side for a moment in the jail cell and then Bart softly said "I see."


	22. Chapter 22 The Carousel Ride

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 22 – The Carousel Ride

Another cold, rainy day. Winter was coming in a hurry and the Mavericks were still in Silver Creek. Some by choice, others forcibly. The two there by choice were unhappy with the local sheriff this morning. The one that was there forcibly was also unhappy, but for a different reason.

Bret and his cousin Beau were trying to find evidence of some sort, any sort, that would clear the Maverick name. Bart was hoping for the same thing, but the name he most wanted cleared was Bart. Sheriff Mort Bowman refused to do any more investigation of the crime; he had decided that the forcibly detained Maverick, Bart, was the guilty party. In fact he was sure of it, and after finding all the evidence he needed to be convinced, he arrested Bart Maverick and jailed him. For murder.

That was the source of Bart's unhappiness, being held in jail awaiting trial for a crime that he didn't think he committed. And not being able to do anything about it. The fourth circuit judge was due to be in town in a week's time and the trial would start then. This wasn't the first time Bart was in jail and it wouldn't be the last. He'd even been accused of murder on one occasion. But this time was different, because Bart didn't know if he'd committed the murder or not.

He'd already been incarcerated for three weeks and it was about to drive him crazy. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't assist with his own defense. Or flirt with the redhead at the saloon that was in desperate need of his attention. Worst of all he couldn't play poker. And the headaches had come back. Not as bad as before but enough to make him aware of their presence. But these seemed different. The back of his head felt like someone had hit him with a boulder.

Hiram Foster spent long hours with him going over the sequence of events from the first day in town. Bret and Beau were a big help when it came to reliving the weeks after the beating. There were whole periods that were unclear to Bart. He didn't tell Hiram about the blackouts. Doc Washburn didn't tell Hiram about them, either. For that he was grateful.

Bret tried to get the sheriff to reveal just what 'evidence' he'd found in the hotel room that made him so certain Bart was the murderer, but Mort Bowman wouldn't budge. He did let Hiram examine the gun he'd taken from the room and the attorney was able to provide Bret with a good account of the murder weapon. Bart gave them a description of his gun, with a distinctive black diamond pattern on the grip, and it was obvious they weren't the same firearm. Bret and Beau scrutinized every cowpoke's pistol when they came into the saloon, knowing if they could find Bart's gun they had their killer. So far no luck.

Georgia and Jody did what they could to try and lift the prisoner's spirits. There's only so much to be done when you're confined to a relatively small space. Bart took to reading law books just to occupy his time and attention. Everything he read worried him more.

Beau basically ran the saloon, with help from Georgia and Harry and even occasionally Jody, while Bret attempted to track down every person that Edgar had ever swindled. None had reason enough to kill him. They were missing something and they knew it, but what?

XXXXXXXX

The closer it got to the starting date of the trial, the more reckless Rusty got. He was sure they were in the clear, since Rusty had planted the indisputable proof in Bart's room and the judge had been sent for. Most nights Rusty and Pete were drunk and wanted to go off shooting something. Anything. Jack began plotting a way to escape from the gang he no longer wanted to be part of. Trouble was, everything he devised involved getting his brother arrested, too. Wherever Rusty went and whatever Rusty did, Pete Sanborn was sure to follow. Jack couldn't convince him it was time to stop breaking the law and try to live a decent life.

XXXXXXXX

Bret was gone again, headed to Sundown, a little town a day past Barker Corners. One of the hands from the Snyder Ranch had run into a man from Sundown who said he'd heard a story about a small gang that was willing to do most anything for money. The man was vague except for the fact that there were three men, two of them brothers and the third had a reputation for being cold-blooded and cruel. Since one of the few details that Bart remembered from the night of the beating was the fact that there were three men involved, Bret was hopeful that he could discover more if he talked to the man in person. Beau was hesitant to share the news with Bart; so far, none of their leads had worked out.

He went down to the jail to see Bart in the morning, before going to the saloon. As usual he found his cousin immersed in one of the law books that Hiram had given him.

"Hey, Cousin Beau, did you know that it's illegal in this state to shoot a frog?"

Where did Bart find this stuff? "Really, Cousin Bart, that's fascinating. Remind me not to go shooting frogs." Beau paused for a moment. "What about toads?"

"Hmm, don't know. The law doesn't say anything about toads. I guess it's alright if you can hit one."

Beau sighed and pulled up a chair outside the jail cell, where he usually sat. Sheriff Bowman wouldn't let anyone in the cell except Hiram Foster. "Judge will be here in a week."

Bart looked up from the book in his hands. "I know. Say, where's Bret this morning? Off on another wild goose chase?"

Beau certainly hoped it wasn't a wild goose chase. "He rode to over to Sundown. Got a lead over there."

"Better than the last one, I hope." Bart seemed to be taking the whole situation rather casually.

"Bart, didn't you tell us there were three men the night of the attack?"

"Yeah, there were three. One older and meaner. He's the one with the strong arm. The other two were younger, kinda favored each other. Maybe brothers. Tall, kinda built like me." He stopped for a moment and chuckled. "Me the way I used to be before I went on my forced diet. Why?"

"That's who Bret went to Sundown to find. Somebody told one of the Snyder hands about three men in Sundown, sounds like they have the right reputation. Would you recognize them?"

Bart got very serious and very still. "Oh yeah, I'd recognize them. Especially the older one. He really enjoyed his work." He closed the law book he was currently examining. "What does Bret expect to find?"

Beau wasn't sure how to answer that. "He's still looking for your gun. If he finds that he finds the murderer. These three seem to be known in that area. Maybe the man in Sundown can point him in the right direction."

"I hope so. I'd like to get out of here before I'm old and gray. Well, at least before I'm gray."

"Is there anything you need? I can send Harry down with whatever you want."

"How about a decent meal? The food in here is killing me. And have you got any cigars on you? I smoked my last one this morning."

Beau pulled three or four cigars out of his pocket, along with some matches. "Here, take these. I'll get more. I'll tell Sheriff Bowman that we're sending your food down from now on. Steak tonight?"

Bart grinned. "You bet. And potatoes. Plenty of potatoes. Got to keep up my strength."

"You know, we are trying to find the real killer."

"I know, Beau. Let's just hope the real killer isn't having this conversation with you."

Beau looked down at his boots. "You didn't kill him, Bart."

"Let's hope not." Bart paused for a moment and repeated in a quieter voice, "Let's hope not."


	23. Chapter 23 Three of a Kind

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 23 – Three of a Kind

The man in Sundown, one Alfred Bitters, was much more pleasant and helpful than his name. Once Bret located him it was easy enough to get Mr. Bitters to talk – for the price of a single beer.

"Sure, I talked to Johnny over at Snyder's. He keeps company with my wife's second cousin. Nice girl, they're talkin' about movin' over here and gettin' married. Anyways, like I told Johnny, these here fellas are a real piece a work. Rusty Meyers is mean as a snake. Wouldn't help his own mother if she was dyin'. Been in and out a jail since he was a young'un. Somewheres along the way he picked up the other two, brothers. Pete is the oldest one's name. Was a time he was a good kid, till he took to runnin' with Rusty." Bitters had to pause to sip his beer and take a breath. Bret didn't dare hurry him, for fear that he'd never get him back to the story.

"Other brother's kinda quiet. Name's Jake – no, hold on a minute – Jack. Never heard too much about him, but he's always with Rusty an Pete. Three of a kind, you might say. Story is they pulled a bank heist down in Colorado and hightailed it back up here. Willin' to do anythin' to make a buck, legal or not. Rumor is that Meyers was a hired gun in New Mexico for he come up here. Like I said, mean as a snake. Take any job offered, long as it pays. Don't care how low down it is. That's about all I know bout them three."

Bret had been sitting and nodding so long that he continued to do so for a minute. "Mr. Bitters, do you know what kind of a gun any of them carries?"

"Gun? No. I only seen 'em a couple a times myself. Never noticed no guns. Ya might go over to the county marshal's office in Fern Creek and talk to Marshal Cole. He's had plenty a run ins with that bunch. Reckon he could tell ya about their guns."

Another town, further south. Marshal Cole. Well, it was worth a try. Certainly everything that Alfred Bitters told him about Rusty, Pete and Jack seemed to fit so far. Could they be the three men he was looking for? Only one way to find out. Bret walked down to the livery stable to collect his horse. Then he headed south, towards Fern Creek.

XXXXXXXX

Hiram Foster and Bart were in the jail cell discussing the trial. Hiram had the distinct impression that there was something big that the Mavericks hadn't told him. How was he supposed to defend the man if he was withholding information from his attorney?

Hiram looked directly at Bart and asked him, "Son, what haven't you told me?"

"Nothing, Hiram."

"Don't lie to me, Bart. Your life depends on this. The cards are stacked against you and you know it. Mort Bowman's got some kind of evidence and I can't find out what it is. I need to make sure that there aren't any surprises when we get into court. What haven't you told me?"

"Really, Hiram, that's the truth. I've told you everything." Bart could lie with the best of them when he needed to, but Hiram Foster was a master at ferreting it out of people. That's why he was a successful lawyer.

"I went to speak with Doctor Washburn. He seemed about as hesitant to tell me anything as you are. What is the good doctor going to say when the prosecution puts him on the stand?"

"Why would the prosecution put him on the witness stand? I thought you were going to call him."

Hiram hesitated to let Bart know how bad all of this really looked. But if he didn't, would Bart open up and reveal just what he was hiding? Maybe not. "I was, but Albie Grayson is the prosecutor and he beat me to it. He's going to call Doctor Washburn as a prosecution witness. Why is that? What can Doctor Washburn testify to that I don't know about? You have to tell me, Bart, or I can't defend you."

The stillness of the jail cell was deafening. "I can't Hiram. You'll think I killed him."

The attorney watched Bart carefully. He had to know. Maverick sat there, slumped over like someone had just beaten him. When he finally spoke he didn't raise his head or look at anything but the jail floor. His voice was quiet and defeated. "I've had blackouts. Doc Washburn knows about them. I had one the night Edgar was killed. Bret and Beau found me in the morning holding the gun that killed him."

Foster didn't say anything. He waited for the man to finish.

Bart finally looked at Hiram. His voice was clear and resolute. "I don't remember anything. I don't know if I killed Pike or not."

Minutes passed. Hiram Foster stood so that his back was to Bart. He walked over to the jail cell window and stared out into the back alley. So much to consider. No wonder he hadn't been told. This put a whole new light on things, good and bad. The attorney needed some time to digest this news.

He turned back to face Bart, who looked as disheartened and miserable as a person could look. "Did you ever intend to kill him?"

The answer came back swiftly. "No."

Foster weighed his words carefully. "I don't believe you did kill him, son. The man I know isn't a cold-blooded killer. In self-defense, certainly. But not the way he was killed. Not you." He walked back to the cot and stood in front of Bart, who looked up at him. "This murder belongs to someone else."

Relief flooded Bart. He was still watching Hiram Foster. "Thank you."

His attorney sat back down in the empty chair. "Now, tell me the whole story." So once more Bart ran through the entire string of events, from what he remembered of the beating to right now. This time he retold everything, including his visit to Doc Washburn and the night of the murder. Or what little he could remember of that night. After listening to the sketchy details that Bart had about the night, Hiram had come to his own conclusion. "Bart, there's no doubt in my mind that you were 'set up.' The window, the gun, the blood; all point to the scene being staged. And you fully dressed, with a shattering headache and remembering nothing? That's what we have to prove."

"How are we going to do that?"

"Bret and Beau are still trying to find the man with your gun, correct? In other words, the killer?"

"Yeah, that's where Bret is now, chasing down a lead. Beau said he went to Sundown day before yesterday. Hasn't made it back yet. Maybe he'll find something. Or someone."

The attorney knew what he had to do. "Is there anything that Mort Bowman found that has him so convinced you're guilty?"

Bart thought for a moment. "No, I was never in the ranch house. The only time I talked to Pike was the day I made the stupid threat, and he was never in the hotel. I can't imagine what the sheriff's got."

Foster stood and went over to the door of the cell. "Deputy Willis, come unlock the door." He looked back at Bart. "I'm going to talk to the doctor, and then I'm going down to see your cousin. Maybe your brother has gotten back with some news. I'll be by tomorrow."

The deputy unlocked the cell door and Hiram exited. Before leaving he turned back to Bart. "I'm glad you trusted me. I know that you're innocent."

Bart walked over to the cell door. "That makes one of us."


	24. Chapter 24 The Devil His Due

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 24 – The Devil His Due

One more town. That's all Bret could think of as he rode into Fern Creek. Fern Creek. Silver Creek. What about Blue Creek? Or Brush Creek? Or Silver Fern Creek? Who thought up these names?

He was worn out. Nothing but riding for almost three days, no decent meals, no bed to sleep in, and his brother's life at stake. And so far, maybe the hint of a trail to follow. Tired as he was, he rode straight to the marshal's office. Time was getting short.

He dismounted wearily and tied his horse up. U.S. Marshal Travis Cole wasn't what he expected. Somehow he pictured an older, world-weary man, short and stocky, and what he got was very different. Travis Cole was tall, blonde, and rangy, with an air of authority that made women and men pay attention when he walked into a room. He stood and shook hands with Bret and offered him coffee.

"You look like you could use it, partner," Cole said as he poured two cups and brought them over to his desk. "Have a seat. Tell me what I can do for you this morning."

Bret took a big swallow of the coffee and started. "My name's Maverick. Bret Maverick. Alfred Bitters in Sundown told me you might have some information I need."

"Ah, yes," Travis answered. "Mr. Bitters is a bit of a talker, but a good fellow. What do you need to know?"

"How familiar are you with Rusty Meyers and Pete and Jack somebody or other that's probably brothers?"

The marshal nodded. "That would be Pete and Jack Sanborn. Born and raised right here in Fern Creek. Orphaned when they were babies. Bounced around from relative to relative; nobody wanted 'em. Pretty damn familiar, and I wish I wasn't."

"Bad news?" Bret already knew the answer to that one.

"From beginning to end. The Sanborn's weren't anything but petty criminals until Meyers came up here. Then they joined with him and been in and out of major trouble ever since. What are they into now?"

Bret's cup was already empty. He raised it questioningly and Cole nodded. "Help yourself." When he returned from the coffee he continued. "If I'm right, they killed a man in Silver Creek. And they're probably the same three that was hired by that man to beat my brother to death."

Travis Cole shook his head. "Sorry to hear that. Did they succeed?"

"No, but only because he's hardheaded." Bret let out a little laugh. "But it took him months to recover, and he's still not completely well." He took another drink of coffee. He was beginning to wake up. "That's what I'm here for. It looks like they tried to frame Bart for the murder. Bart's my brother. Somebody shot a rancher, Edgar Pike, and then swapped the gun Pike was shot with for Bart's. The gun is pretty ordinary except for a notch on the bottom of the grip. Almost looks like a lightning bolt. Have you ever seen any of those three with a gun like that?"

The marshal didn't have to think long. "Yep, I had all three of their guns in my desk the last time I had them overnight in a cell. Meyers had a notch like that on his gun. Sounds like he's the one you're looking for."

A chill shot up Bret's spine. Rusty Meyers. The man who had almost killed his brother. And who killed Edgar Pike. That was the answer. Bart didn't have a blackout, Meyers or one of the Sanborns had knocked him unconscious again and switched his gun for the murder weapon. No wonder poor Bart couldn't remember anything about that night. He was absolutely right, he hadn't done anything except go to bed. Everything in the room had been planted so that Sheriff Bowman would believe Bart guilty and arrest him. And then it suddenly struck Bret – the missing picture from Pike's house, the one of Jessie Maverick's kin, must be what the gang planted somewhere in Bart's room. Someplace hidden enough to be missed at first glance by Beau and Bret but conspicuous enough to be found by someone looking for evidence. Now he had to find them.

"Marshal Cole, can I get you to sign a statement swearing to a description of Meyers' gun? You might help save my brother's life."

"Sure, especially if it'll help convict Meyers and get him off the streets. There's an attorney about a block down the street, Aaron Mitchell. The judges in the territory know him real well and trust him pretty good. Go on down there and have him draft a statement and bring it back here and I'll sign it for you."

Bret got up and shook Marshal Cole's hand. He might be forced to change his thinking about lawmen. "Thanks Marshal Cole. Thanks a lot."

"Travis, please," the marshal said. "I'll be here all day."

With that, Bret hurried out of the marshal's office. For the first time in a while he had some hope that they might actually be able to settle this thing without Bart standing trial. He found Attorney Mitchell's office and got in to see him as soon as he told the clerk that Marshal Travis Cole had sent him. Once Bret explained what the affidavit needed to say, Mitchell had his clerk start work on it. He told Bret to come back at 2 o'clock and the papers would be ready for Marshal Cole's signature.

Bret left the attorney's office and went to send a telegram to Beau. The wire he sent to his cousin read:

Coming back with evidence.

I know who has gun.

Cousin Bret

He lit a cigar as he left the telegraph office. All he had to do was wait until 2 o'clock to pick up the affidavit and then get Cole to sign it. If he hurried he could eat, get the signature, and maybe get back to Sundown by dark. If he pushed it really hard and changed horses he might be able to reach Silver Creek in two days. That gave him only three more days to find Meyers and the Sanborn boys. Not an easy task.

XXXXXXXX

Sammy, the telegraph clerk in Silver Creek, came running over to the saloon as soon as he received the message from Bret. He was breathless as he reached Harry at the bar. "Where's Mr. Maverick?"

Harry looked around and, not seeing Beau, assumed he was upstairs in the main office. "Upstairs, third door on the left," he told Sammy. The clerk went running across the floor and up the stairs as fast as he could. He knew how important this message was to the Mavericks.

Beau was in the office trying to teach Jody to play whist. She was a natural at poker but Beau had learned the game in England and missed having someone to play with. "Jody, it's simple. Really. The first trump card is hearts."

Jody looked at Beau curiously. "Honestly, Beauregard, can't we just play seven card stud? Nobody will ever play it with me."

Sammy heard the voices and knocked. Beau yelled "Come in," and Sammy did.

"Telegram from Mr. Maverick, Mr. Maverick," he announced. Beau took it from him and handed him a coin. "Thanks, Sammy."

He read it quickly and a smile spread over his face. "What is it?" Jody begged.

"It's from Bret. He's coming back with something and he knows who has the gun." This was the best news they'd had in weeks. Beau wanted to rush downstairs to tell Georgia but he stopped to look at Jody.

"It's alright," she told him. "I know what's going on. Go tell her."

Beau jumped up from behind the desk and practically flew down the stairs. "Georgia!"

Georgia was in her office talking to a very unfamiliar character. Beau stopped in the doorway. "Jack, this is one of the owners, Beau Maverick. Beau, this is Jack Sanborn. He's looking for a job tending bar and I just finished explaining we don't have anything open right now. But we might very soon in the future, the way we're growing."

Jack Sanborn stood up and offered Beau his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Maverick." Beau looked at him with a small flicker of recognition.

"Have we met before?" Beau asked him.

"No, I don't think so. I have been in the saloon a few times with my brother. Maybe you saw me there."

"Perhaps." There was something about Sanborn that made Beau uneasy. He was a pleasant enough looking fellow, clean and polite, and reasonably well-spoken, but something seemed just a bit wrong. Beau couldn't put his finger on it, so he chalked it up to nerves. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I'll come back later."

"No, that's alright," Georgia told him. "Please stay." She turned back to Jack Sanborn. "Jack, why don't you check back with us in about a month? We could be looking for someone by then."

The young cowboy stood. "Thank you, Mrs. Mayfield. I will." He tipped his hat to Georgia, nodded to Beau and left the office. Beau closed the door behind him.

"Did you find him a bit . . . . strange?" Beau asked.

"No, not in the least. He was very nice, actually."

Beau shook his head. "I could swear I've seen him somewhere before."

Georgia responded "Maybe in the saloon like he suggested."

"Maybe. Anyway, there's something I came to tell you." He waved the piece of paper in his hand. "Bret's on his way back. He found some kind of evidence. And he says he knows who has Bart's gun."

Georgia jumped up from behind the desk and ran around to Beau. She was so happy that she hugged him. Then she kissed him.

Beau kissed her back. Several times. They were still locked in an embrace when Jody walked in. She nonchalantly sat down in front of Georgia's desk and looked at her mother. Georgia and Beau hastily separated and Georgia returned to her chair. Georgia cleared her throat and said quite formally, "Beau was just telling me about Bret's telegram. Isn't it wonderful?"

Beau sat down next to Jody and interjected, "Let's not be too hasty. We still have to find the gun owner, whoever it is. And bring them in. But we need to get Bart out of jail. Maybe this will do it."

"Poor Bartley," Jody said. "He's so miserable in there. Do you know how many law books he's read already?"

"Did he tell you about the frogs?" Beau asked.

In unison Georgia and Jody said "Yes!" and they all laughed. Then Beau got serious again.

"I don't know how he's stayed as sane as he has. All this hanging over him and never knowing if you committed murder or not. At least now he can be assured that he's not guilty."

"And we knew it all along," Georgia added.

"And told him so repeatedly," Jody chimed in.

Beau got up to leave. "I must go see him," he told the ladies. "I'll be back to take you both to dinner."

Beau rushed out of the office. Finally, some good news to share with Bart.

XXXXXXXX

Georgia and Jody watched the door close behind him. Jody shook her head at Georgia. "Mother, do you know what you've gotten into?" she asked.

"Perfectly well, thank you, my dear," Georgia replied.

"You're going to get hurt by all this."

Georgia looked at her 'little girl' and wondered when she had grown so wise. "Probably," she answered.

Jody was determined to make sure her mother knew what she was doing. "He's going to leave someday, you know."

"Yes, I know," Georgia was firm in her resolve to never try to fool herself. "And it will break my heart when he does. But I'm not the right person for him, and he's not your father."

Jody knew how hard it had been on her mother when she lost Holt. At least now she was happy, involved in life again. Maybe the looming heartache was worth the spirit she'd regained. Beau was good for her.

"I wish you didn't have to be hurt."

"I'm not the only one who's going to be hurt. You've gotten really close to Bart, haven't you?" Georgia was asking a question that the answer to was obvious.

Jody looked down at her hands before she answered. "He's like a big brother. I hate to see him in such pain."

Georgia knew exactly how her daughter felt. "He's almost completely healed, you know."

Jody shook her head. "I don't mean physical pain, Mother. He's so miserable over not knowing if he killed Uncle Edgar. And it doesn't matter how many times I tell him that he's innocent, he's still not sure. I really hope Beauregard can make him feel better with that telegram."

"I do to, honey. More important, I hope that Bret really does have a lead on who the murderer is. We're running out of time."

They were both silent for a minute, then Jody asked, "Do you really think they'll leave? When this is all done, I mean?"

There was no hesitation in Georgia's answer. "Yes, Jody, I do. I think Bret would have been gone a long time ago if Bart was well. Beau I'm not sure of. He might still be here. But he'll be gone eventually, too. He's not ready to settle down. He might never be. It has to be on his timetable, not someone else's."

"What about Bart?"

Georgia thought about that carefully, knowing about Bart's brief 'marriage'. "I think Bart's different. His chance may have passed him by. He moves around out of habit more than anything else. I don't know, maybe I'm overthinking it. The bottom line is, he's still a Maverick. They were born full of wanderlust." She paused for a moment and thought about Jessie. "Jessie had it, too. There were times when we had the saloon that she would get so restless she'd just about crawl out of her skin. But she resisted it. That's the difference. I don't know if they can."

Jody offered her own 'insight.' "I hope so. I'd really miss them."

"I would too, sweetheart. Let's worry about that later. For right now, I'd settle for getting Bart out of jail."


	25. Chapter 25 YoullPike

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 25 – ' .Pike.

Beau made his way down the street to the jail. This time of day there was no one at the jail but Sheriff Bowman and Beau didn't like to visit with just the sheriff around. Bowman seemed to dislike the Mavericks and made things as difficult as possible for them. He'd never really investigated the beating and had been more than willing to jump to the conclusion that Bart was Edgar Pike's murderer. And he refused to share the evidence with Bart's attorney, Hiram Foster. Beau tended to stick to visiting in the morning when Deputy Willis was on duty; Willis was a lot more pleasant to deal with.

This visit couldn't wait until tomorrow, not with the way Bart's state of mind was progressing. So Beau gritted his teeth and walked into the jail. "Good evening, Sheriff Bowman."

Mort nodded. "Mr. Maverick. Little late in the day for you to be here, isn't it?"

"Something's come up. I need to see Bart."

"Well now, Willis told me you were already here today. Why can't it wait until tomorrow?"

Lord forbid Bowman had to go out of his way to do anything for anyone named Maverick. "Because it can't, sheriff."

Mort wasn't happy but he didn't have a good reason to refuse Beau. He pointed back towards the cells. "Well, you know where he is."

Beau hurried back to the all too familiar jail cell. Bart was attempting to play Maverick Solitaire. He looked up, surprised, when he saw Beau. "Cousin Beau, what brings you out this time of day?"

"I got a telegram from Bret."

"And where is Brother Bret now?"

"On his way back from Fern Creek," Beau shared.

"Fern Creek? Where's that?" Bart stopped playing and looked at his cousin.

"South of Sundown. He went to see a man in Sundown who had information. Remember?"

Bart shook his head. "I'm havin' a little trouble with my memory these days. So much goin' on it's kinda hard to keep track of everything. What kind of information?"

Beau was perplexed. Was Bart serious? Did he not remember what Beau told him? Had the beating really affected his memory? Or was Bart pulling his leg? "About the gun you had when we found you."

"Oh yeah, now I remember. So?"

"Bret knows who the gun belongs to." At last Beau had Bart's attention; he put down the cards, stood up and walked over to the cell door. "Who?"

"The telegram didn't say. He's coming back with some kind of evidence."

"What evidence?" Bart was interested now.

Beau handed him the telegram and let him read it for himself. "Hmmm. Doesn't say. Wonder what it is?"

"Bart, he knows who the gun belongs to! That means he knows who killed Pike." Beau paused for a moment to let that sink in. "You didn't do it. Bret's got proof!"

Bart shook his head. "No, Beau, that's not what the telegram says. It says he knows who has my gun. That doesn't mean I didn't kill Pike."

The Maverick stubbornness had reared its ugly head. "Bart, you didn't kill Edgar. Bret knows who did. That's probably why he didn't tell us who has your gun in the telegram. In case somebody saw it."

"Ok, Beau, whatever you say."

Now Beau was really worried. What in the world was going on in Bart's head? Would Bart give him an honest answer? Did Bart even know?

"Cousin Bart, sit down." Beau pointed at the empty chair in the cell. Bart pulled it over to the cell door and obediently sat down. Beau grabbed the chair he used in his morning visits and sat as close to Bart as he could, with only the bars of the cell between them. This conversation was going to be private. Mort Bowman didn't need to hear any of it.

Beau made sure that Bart was really paying attention to him. He kept his voice low. "You've got me totally bewildered, Cousin Bart. Do you understand what I'm telling you? You didn't kill Pike. ' .Pike. Someone else did and set you up for the murder. Bret's on his way back now and we're going to find the real killer and this whole nightmare will be over. You'll be free. Cleared of all charges. Ready to leave this place and never look back. You didn't kill Edgar Pike."

Bart sat and stared at Beau for a good five minutes. Then he blinked several times and looked like a fog had begun to lift in his head. There was an incredulous tone in his voice when he asked, "I didn't kill Pike?"

Beau shook his head and looked down at the floor. "No, Bart, you didn't kill Pike. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"You're sure?"

"Yes Bart, I'm sure."

Bart lowered his head into his hands and his shoulders heaved, but he made no sound. He sat that way for the longest time and Beau sat with him, waiting for the reality of what he'd just been told to sink in. Finally Bart lifted his head out of his hands and said out loud, "I didn't do it. I really didn't do it." He leaned in as close as he could get to the cell bars and almost whispered to his cousin, "You don't know what it's been like. For weeks I've doubted my own sanity, my morals, everything I ever believed in. Could I really kill a man in cold blood? Even if I hated him and wanted him dead? And I thought that I'd done just that. It was perfect. I started to believe every vile thing I've ever been called. I was sure that I was a murderer. Why? Why would somebody do this to me?"

Beau was immensely relieved. Bart was more rational than he'd been in months. For the first time in a long time, he sounded like himself rather than the terrified and maddened shell of Bart Maverick that he'd turned into.

With his head starting to clear, something that bothered him for weeks surfaced. "Beau – Edgar was shot and pistol whipped. Why? To make it look like I paid him back for what he'd done to me? Since it wasn't me, who'd do that?"

The answer was obvious to Beau. "The men that tried to kill you."

"Yes, but why?"

The puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place and Beau guessed the next one. "They had to get him out of the way. They considered him a danger."

"How? I couldn't identify them. That must have been obvious." Bart stopped for a moment to think. It came to him quickly. "The only one who could identify them was Edgar. As long as he was alive he was a threat to them."

That made sense to Beau, but one thing still bothered him. Why now? "So what changed? They must have known for months that you couldn't identify them. Why wait until now to go after Edgar? What prompted the murder?"

Bart didn't have an answer. "Don't know, but something must have. Maybe they thought they'd done their job and they found out differently. Maybe they tried to get more money out of Edgar. Maybe he wanted them to finish the job and they wouldn't." That was a sobering thought. Bart tried not to dwell on it. "Or wanted more money to try again. I don't know. Something made them change their plans for Pike when they did."

Beau was thankful that Bart seemed to be thinking straight again. "I guess we'll have to wait till we can find them and bring them in." He got up from his chair and moved it back against the wall. "When Bret gets back."

"Where did you say he was?"

"On his way from Fern Creek. Should be here in two, three days. Time enough to find whoever we're looking for." _'I hope,' _thought Beau.

Bart said it out loud. "I hope. Sure would be nice to see something besides these four walls. Did you get rid of the hotel room like I asked?" Right after being arrested Bart told Beau to move his things into one of the offices at the saloon. No sense paying for a hotel room you couldn't even visit.

"You will be delighted to know that I did just as you asked. The last office on the left upstairs is where your belongings now reside. As soon as we get you out of here there will be a hotel room waiting for you."

"With a double lock on the door, please." Bart let out a little laugh.

"Anything you wish," Beau responded. "I must get back to 'Mavericks.' I promised to take the ladies to dinner."

Bart had one last question before Beau returned to the saloon. "Will you let Hiram know about the telegram?"

"I shall, Cousin Bart. I shall."


	26. Chapter 26 Home Again

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 26 – Home Again

Bret had been saddle sore before but not like this. After two full days of driving one horse after another practically until they dropped, Bret had finally gotten home to Silver Creek. It was almost 3 a.m. when he rode into town and headed for the livery stable. At this time of night he'd have to bed his own horse down, and the poor beast deserved special treatment. He spent over an hour removing his gear, feeding, grooming and watering the roan gelding, before finally feeling like he'd done everything he could to make up for the way he'd pushed the animal this last 100 miles. Besides, it was the middle of the night. Or rather almost morning when he finished. Surely everyone would be asleep.

He left the stable and walked up the silent street towards 'The Three Mavericks.' There were lights on but all seemed quiet inside. He was right, when he walked into the saloon there was one man at the bar talking to Harry and one poker game going with four players. Lettie was there but the other girls were gone. Poor Harry looked like he was about to fall asleep. Beau was nowhere in sight but the door to the main office upstairs was open and the light was on. Bret nodded to Harry and climbed the steps two at a time. Beau was seated at the desk, head across his arm, fast asleep. He appeared so peaceful and childlike, just like he had when they were kids together. Whenever the three boys got caught doing anything they weren't supposed to, Beau was always the one who looked like he was just an innocent bystander. Those were carefree, simple days. Bret sighed and reached down to turn off the light on the desk._ 'Let him sleep,'_ he thought. He tiptoed out of the office and closed the door.

Bret took the stairs a little slower. He watched Harry wipe the bar down from end to end and got there just as he was finishing. "Close it up, Harry. That's enough for one day." Harry acknowledged Bret's direction and started washing glasses. The poker game had just broken up and the men were slowly making their way towards the door. Bret followed them and closed and locked the big saloon double doors behind them. That's when he noticed a light on in Georgia's office and asked Harry about it. "Miz Georgia been here all night," he told Bret. "Says she can't sleep anyway. Does a money count after we close."

Bret took off his hat and shook his head. "Is this the first time that's happened?"

Harry hesitated, not wanting to say anything out of turn. "No sir, boss, been happenin' pretty regular ever since Mr. Bart's been gone." Bret dropped his hat on the corner of the bar and walked over to Georgia's office. He was about to knock on her door when she looked up and saw him. She jumped up out of her chair, ran over to him and gave him a big hug. "Bret, I'm so glad you're back. Did you see Beau?"

He laughed out loud before answering. "Yes, Georgia, I saw him. Sound asleep at the desk upstairs. I didn't wake him."

She sat back down at her desk and offered him a chair. "I know. That's the first time he's slept since he got your telegram. Poor boy. I didn't have the heart to wake him, either."

Funny, when Bret walked into the saloon he had been ready for sleep, too. Now he found himself wide awake. "I assume he shared that with you and Jody? And Bart? Who else, do you know?"

"Hiram Foster," she answered quickly. "Nobody else that I know of. I don't think he even told Harry."

"Good. The less people who know, the better. I wanna' make sure that everybody's safe. That includes you and Jody. This isn't what you signed on for when we talked you into coming back."

Georgia recognized and took note of the serious tone in Bret's voice. He really was the big brother to everyone. Even her. "You're not trying to get rid of me, are you Bret?"

The reply was swift. "No ma'am. You're the one who really runs this place, not us. I hate to think of the mess we'd of made by now without you. I'd just like to have this all be over and everyone back where they belong." His face darkened as he continued. "Including the men responsible. I'd like them to be somewhere other than Silver Creek. Like maybe the graveyard." He hadn't forgotten how they'd almost killed his brother. He would be more than happy to see them get their due, especially if they were hanged for it.

Everything was still and quiet for a minute. They could hear Harry whistling as he cleaned up from a long night. Georgia broke the silence by asking quietly, "Do you really know who the gun belongs to?"

He hesitated to answer, but not because he didn't trust her. Finally he said softly, "Rusty Meyers."

She looked startled. There was a name she hadn't heard in years. "I thought he left these parts a long time ago."

Bret was slow to reply. "He did, according to the marshal in Fern Creek. But he's back, and he's been hanging out with two brothers and doin' 'odd jobs.' The kind that gentlemen and ladies don't talk about. The marshal over there wasn't shocked when I told him what happened." That edgy tone in his voice. She'd heard that a lot lately. "Now we have to find him."

"Any idea where to start?"

"Out at the JP. I'll see if Pike's man Felton remembers a stranger coming to see Edgar. I've got a sketchy description but it might be enough to go by. Where I go next depends on what I find."

"Bret, be careful." Georgia looked at the oldest Maverick brother with grave concern. "One of you sitting in jail at a time is enough. Mort Bowman seems determined to hang a Maverick and even if you can get Bart out it won't do any good for you to take his place."

Bret realized that Georgia had misunderstood him. "I'm not gonna kill him, Georgia. I just wannna take him in so we can get Bart released." He gave a little laugh. "Besides, the law can hang him. They're good at that."

The saloon manager was relieved to hear that. None of the three Mavericks seemed like it would be an easy thing for them to take a man's life, but so much had happened since they first arrived in Silver Creek. When time after time things went the wrong way it was easy for even a good man to change. And the Mavericks weren't exactly what you would call good to begin with. Card sharps and part time con men could turn to the dark side faster than most. Even when they had decent hearts.

Time to wrap things up for the night. Georgia closed and locked her desk and turned to Bret as she rose from her chair. "Go get some sleep. You can't keep going the way you look now."

"I look that good, huh?" There was a distinct tone of amusement in his voice.

"You look like you were ridden hard and put away wet. Take care of yourself or you'll end up in a sick bed. What good will that do?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm headed for the hotel now. Couple of hours and I'll be good to go. How about you?" He stood next to her, ready to escort her out of her office and through the front door.

"I'll be back before noon. Maybe by that time Beau will be up and we can have some breakfast. A whole meal would be a luxury right now."

When was the last time he'd had one of those? He couldn't remember. "Yeah. I'll stop and see Bart before I ride on out. I'll be here later, tell Beau. I'll see him then."

He walked her to the front door. It was barely daylight outside. "Harry, you about done?"

Harry took off his apron, picked up his hat and coat and joined them at the front door. "Yep, boss, I'm done for a while. Alvin's on at noon today. Either of you mind if I go by the jail and see Mr. Bart this morning?"

"Nope, Harry, go right ahead. It'll no doubt do Brother Bart some good to see a friendly face." Bret unlocked the front doors and let everyone out. Then he turned around and relocked them. Didn't need anybody breaking in, especially with Beau asleep upstairs. Harry offered his arm to Georgia. "Miz Georgia, home as usual?"

Georgia switched arms from Bret to Harry. "Yes sir, home as usual. Good morning, Bret."

Bret tipped the hat he picked up on the corner of the bar where he'd left it earlier. "Good morning, Mrs. Mayfield. Harry. See you all later." He turned up the street towards the hotel and was glad that he'd stopped in before going to his room. Now, a couple hours sleep, a visit to his brother, and another ride. At least he was home.


	27. Chapter 27 Gun, Gun, Who's Got the Gun?

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 27 – Gun, Gun, Who's Got the Gun?

When you play poker for a living you learn to exist on limited sleep. Laying down for two hours or less was nothing new to Bret and he felt better after even that limited amount of rest. He did his best to get the trail dust off of him and changed clothes. Then he went down to the dining room, grabbed coffee and left for the jail.

As always in the morning, Deputy Willis was minding the store. He looked surprised to see Bret. "Mr. Maverick, I see you got back from Sundown."

"No, Willis, further than that. Can I go on back?"

"Sure. Your brother's still in the same place."

Bret smiled at that. "I didn't think he'd be moving without letting me know."

Bart was watching something out the cell window and didn't turn around. "Good morning, Cousin Beau."

A familiar voice responded. "Not Beau. Would you settle for me instead?"

"Bret!" Bart whirled around, glad to have his brother back. There was a merry twinkle in Bart's eyes as he responded to the return. "Uh, were you gone long? Time flies by so fast in here that I lose track of people."

Bart seemed in much better spirits than he had when Bret left. Funny what finding out you weren't a murderer could do for your psyche.

"I can be gone longer if you'd like," Bret responded.

"No, thank you Brother Bret. That was just fine. Back in time for the trial."

"You don't seem too worried about that."

Bart laughed out loud. "Oh, I'm plenty worried. At least I know I'm innocent."

Bret smiled at his brother through the bars and didn't say anything. It took Bart a minute to realize that Bret wasn't talking. "Wait a minute. I am innocent, aren't I? That is what your telegram meant, isn't it?"

"Well, let's put it this way. You didn't kill Edgar Pike. How innocent you are remains to be seen."

Bart ignored his brother's jest. "Tell me what you found out."

Bret pulled the 'visiting' chair over to the cell door and sat down. Bart did the same. "Rusty Meyers."

"That's the name?"

"That's the name," Bret replied.

"Description? Location? Anything else?"

"Undistinguished. Forty-ish, your height, heavier, dark hair, clean shaven, mean look in his eyes. Nothin' on the location. Hangin' out with Pete and Jack Sanborn, brothers, no description. I spent an afternoon with Marshal Cole in Sundown, he's arrested 'em before. Knows Rusty's gun; had it in his possession when he arrested 'em. Gave me a description that fits that carved lightning bolt in the bottom of the grip real well. I've got a signed affidavit from the marshal swearing that it's Rusty's gun we found you with."

"Is that all?"

"Isn't it enough?"

"For Bowman, no. He'll have forty different ways from Sunday that I could have traded guns with Meyers. Not one of 'em will be true but that doesn't matter. You're gonna have to bring him in to get me outa here."

Bret nodded his head at Bart's pronouncement. "Yep, that's what I figured on."

"So why are you here talkin' to me?"

"Because our momma told me to take care of you. That's what I'm doin'."

Bart smiled at the reference to Belle Maverick. "Where you gonna start?"

Bret told his brother what he'd told Georgia. "Out at the ranch. See where that leads me. I may not be here for the start of the trial; you'd be better off if I could find Meyers and stop it."

"Do what you need to do. I know where you are. Beau'll be there. And Jody. And most likely Georgia too."

"She's not sleepin', ya know. I mean Georgia. I got over to the saloon about four this morning and she was still there. Told Harry she can't sleep. Worried about you like you were her kin. How'd you get as good a friend as Georgia Mayfield?"

"I told her about Caroline," Bart answered quietly.

"Oh." Nothing further was needed. Bart really must trust Georgia if he told her the story of his young deceased wife. Had he filled her in on the six months after Caroline's death when he was missing from the face of the earth? Bret fervently hoped so. The younger Maverick would never really be over it until he discussed the months immediately following the killing with someone instead of keeping it bottled up inside. Now he better understood the bond that had developed between Bart and the Mayfield women.

"I better get to riding. Who knows where I'll end up today? I'll come by when I get back."

As Bret stood to leave Bart reached through the bars and grabbed his arm. "Bret?"

"Yes, Brother Bart?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For being my brother."

XXXXXXXX

Beau awoke with a start. How long had he been sleeping? From the way his body felt when he tried to move it had been a while. He stretched and yawned and attempted to stand up. Every part of him hurt. Ho looked out the window and realized the sun was up. He'd slept all night! It had been a little after midnight when he put his head down on the desk for just a few minutes rest. He's heard nothing after that.

The saloon was deathly quiet. Beau left the office and walked down the stairs to the main floor. Funny how a place this still could get so loud when it was full of people. He looked over at Georgia's office and the door was closed. Good, that meant that one of them slept in a bed last night.

He wondered if Bret had gotten back yet. Surely he would have woken Beau if he was home. One way to find out for sure. Go by the hotel on the way to his normal morning visit to the jail. He locked the saloon doors on his way out and wandered up the street to the hotel. The desk clerk greeted him with his usual "Good morning, Mr. Maverick," and then continued with "Your cousin is back from his trip."

"Bret?" Beau asked, then realized of course it was Bret. "Is he in his room?"

"No sir," came the reply. "He was here for two or three hours and left again. Last time I saw him he was headed out of town."

"Headed which way?" Beau questioned.

"Towards the JP spread. That must have been an hour or so ago. Said he'd be back later and if you came in to tell you to go see Mr. Bart Maverick in jail." As if there was more than one Maverick in jail. Was that what the town hoped for? Or had they become part of the community?

He decided not to worry about it and headed back out to the street. It only took a couple of minutes to make the customary walk and step inside. By now he was as familiar with the inside of the jail as he was the saloon or his hotel room. "Morning, Willis," he told the deputy as he went past the desk.

"Morning, Mr. Maverick," Willis called after him. "Coffee?"

"Sure, I'd love some," Beau answered as he turned the corner and saw Bart in his normal place – in the jail cell looking out the window. This time Bart turned around before speaking.

"Glad to see it's really you this time."

"What?" Beau was confused.

"Last time I said good morning to you it was really Brother Bret."

"So he was here?"

"Yes he was, Cousin Beauregard, he was here in the flesh. Then he was riding out to the JP to see if he could find – " Bart stopped in mid-sentence.

"To see if he could find who?"

"Don't you mean whom?" Bart was laughing now and it wasn't funny. Of course, Bart laughing was a lot better than the last time Beau was there to visit him.

Beau stood patiently and waited for Bart to quiet down. "Now, let's try this again. Who was Bret going to find?"

"The real killer of Edgar Pike. The man who tried to kill me. Rusty Meyers."

"And he went out to the JP?"

"Yep. Gotta start somewhere."

Beau finally pulled the well-used chair over to the cell. "Did he say anything about me?"

Bart sat down inside the cell and shook his head. "Not a word. Where were you when he rode in?"

"Asleep. At the desk in what was supposed to be your office. Instead of in a bed."

Bart swept his hand past the cot as if putting it on display. "Welcome to my world. Why were you at the saloon instead of the hotel?"

"Georgia was still there working. I couldn't leave her there to walk home, at night, in the dark. I just closed my eyes for a moment."

"And woke up how many hours later?"

Beau looked rather sheepish although he had no cause to. "Several. And I presume Bret or Harry walked her home."

"Of course they did. Neither would let her go home by herself. You know that."

His cousin's head nodded. "At least Bret came back with something. Did he tell you what the evidence is?"

"Marshal over in Sundown identified the gun you found me with as one belonging to Meyers. Signed an affidavit to that effect."

"I don't suppose we can get you out with that?"

Bart scowled at the question. He'd just told Bret that wouldn't be enough evidence. That's why Rusty Meyers had to be found.

"I don't see how. There's too many ways I could have gotten the gun. Besides, with the trial this close nobody but the judge or the prosecutor could dismiss the charges, and they're not due in town until tomorrow."

Beau sighed. He'd hoped that Bret would return with enough evidence to set Bart free. Instead, Bart was still in jail and Bret was already gone again. Wouldn't this ever end?

Almost as if Bart could read Beau's mind, he offered, "Just gotta play the cards we were dealt, cousin. Even if it is a shaved deck. We've been in worse spots."

Beau started to say, "Yeah? When?" but thought better of it. Bart was at least hopeful, and Beau wasn't about to take that away from him. Instead he offered "Yes we have," and let it go at that.


	28. Chapter 28 Wanderlust Quelled

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 28 – Wanderlust Quelled

Bret pulled his jacket closer as the chill wind whipped past him. _'When did it get so cold?'_ he wondered, and then _'and we're still here?' _

The Mavericks' were not cold weather people. Born and raised in Texas, they all seemed to thrive more in warmer climates. That's why Bret had trouble understanding Jessie living so long in Montana. Summers were fine, but winters? He probably would have been gone a long time ago were it not for Bart and the inability to leave. Georgia was right about him. He was usually the first to move on, that wanderlust to see what was around the next corner.

No sense worrying about it now, he wasn't going anywhere until Bart was out of jail. That was the purpose for the cold morning ride, once more back out to the JP ranch to try and pick Burt Felton's brain. And hope against hope that Felton could place Rusty Meyers at the ranch sometime before the murder.

Bret had taken it upon himself to continue paying Felton's wages, along with one or two other ranch hands, just to keep the place going. No sense letting Jessie's home and surrounding land fall into disorder; if nothing else the land could be sold when everything was settled. Besides, Jessie was buried there, along with the unmarked grave, and she was, after all was said and done, a Maverick. Pappy would never forgive him for disrespecting a Maverick. So Felton still 'rode herd' on the property. The murder scene inside the house had been cleaned and repaired and Felton was temporarily living there.

The hastily erected gate and fence had been torn down, reduced to the discarded logs they once were. Bret was glad about that. Jessie didn't want any fences or gates and she wouldn't have been pleased with Edgar's reasons for erecting them. Only a few more minutes in this cold to the house.

'_Better think about a heavier coat'_ was the next thing that went through Bret's mind. If they were going to be stuck here for a while he had no intention of freezing to death. He urged his horse on through the cold wind.

He could see smoke rising from the chimney as he approached the ranch. Not much else a 'caretaker' could do on a day like today. The only livestock left were a few horses, all the rest had been sold or given away. Once they were watered and fed the best place to be was inside in front of a nice fire. As soon as Bret reached the hitching post he dismounted and tied his horse up. Three long strides and he was across the porch and in the house.

Burt Felton was doing just what Bret thought about, sitting in front of the roaring fireplace. He stood up as soon as Bret entered. "Mr. Maverick, I wasn't expectin' you."

"Sit down, Burt, there's no need to get up on my account. I just need to get warm."

"Come on over and sit down," Burt invited unnecessarily. Bret was already across the room warming himself. "I got a pot a coffee on the stove. Want some?"

"Sure. Black, please."

Burt poured two cups and brought them back. "What brings you out here in this wind?"

Bret cleared his throat and started. "I need to know if you saw a stranger out here with Edgar either a few months back or right before he was killed. Woulda been older than me, not as tall, built about the same, dark hair, clean shaven, unfriendly sort. Could have been alone, could have had two other men with him. Remember anybody like that?"

Burt sat and sipped his coffee while he thought. Finally he shook his head. "Didn't see nobody like that earlier in the year. But there was a fella here about five or six weeks ago fits that description. Mr. Pike didn't seem real glad to see him. Don't know what they talked about but Mr. Edgar was shoutin' at one point and then the fella you was askin' about rode off. That's the only time I seen him."

Bret digested this information. It confirmed just what he'd thought – Pike had in some way threatened the outlaw, and he was ultimately repaid with a bullet. "Any idea where this man might have gone?"

"Nope. Though when he left he rode down towards Silver Creek. There's lots of places a man can stay hidden down there if'n he wants to."

Bret drained his coffee cup and set it down. "Thanks, Burt, that's the information I needed. Anything else I should know?"

"Not that comes to mind. Everythin's kinda peaceful without Mr. Edgar here raisin' hell."

Maverick rose to go. "You know how to get me if you need anything?"

"Yes sir, I'll just send Luke or Bobby in to the saloon."

"Good. If I'm not there they can see Beau. He's usually around somewhere."

'_Down by Silver Creek, huh?'_ was the first thing Bret thought. The wind was just as biting as before but he headed the gelding towards the creek, anyway. He couldn't afford this to be a dead end. He needed to find Rusty Meyers or one or more of the Sanborns as soon as possible. It wasn't quite as miserable in the shelter of the trees and Bret wandered around for a while before he stumbled across what he was looking for – a small poorly built cabin tucked away at the very back of a grove of blackjack pine trees. He pulled his horse up and dismounted, careful to be as quiet as he could just in case. It looked like the cabin was deserted.

Bret left the horse tied to a tree and slowly made his way closer. It was deserted alright, but inside there was evidence that someone had been there fairly recently. A fire had been burned in the old stove and there were boot prints in the soft earth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a burned piece of paper stuck in the stove grate. He pulled it out and found partial words. 'Barker Corners Arms' was at the top and '….born' remained of the right side bottom. Regrettably, Bret couldn't remember the name of the hotel Bart stayed at the one night he spent in Barker Corners but it could be the only hotel in town. And could the rest be 'Sanborn'? It was worth a try. Bret put the paper back where he found it and left the cabin. He needed to get back to town and see Bart before taking off for the south. He prayed there would still be a trail to follow.

XXXXXXXX

Alvin had unlocked the saloon doors and was open for business when Beau finally got there. Georgia's door was still closed so Beau assumed she wasn't in yet. He grabbed another cup of coffee from behind the bar and headed upstairs. He was surprised to find Jody waiting for him in the office. "Miss Jody, how are you on this cold and blustery day? And what can I do for you?"

"Sit down and talk to me, Beauregard," Jody pronounced. "There are things I want to know – no, need to know – and you all are leaving me out when you pass information around. I am not a child and I have just as much at stake here as the rest of you. I'm tired of being excluded."

Beau wasn't expecting this. What was Jody talking about? "Jody? What is it you want to know?"

"Did Bret get back from Sundown? What did he find out? What evidence did he bring back? What's he doing next?" She had just about run out of steam, but not quite. "And what are you going to do about my mother?"

The last question was the most difficult. "Well, in the order that you asked: Yes Bret got back, he found a match for the gun Bart had, he got an affidavit from the marshal in Sundown swearing that the gun belonged to Rusty Meyers and not Bart, he went out to the JP this morning to talk to Burt Felton, and what do you mean what am I going to do about your mother?" Beau was out of breath by the time he finished.

Even Jody had to laugh at the string of answers. "Alright, I guess I did ask a lot of questions. Who's Rusty Meyers?"

"The scoundrel that beat up Bart and killed your Uncle Edgar. Rusty did the murder and framed Bart. Killed Edgar with his gun and then planted it on Bart in exchange. Bret's trying to find him."

"Good. Progress on that front. Now, what about my mother?"

Beau watched Jody's face as he answered. There was no indication of anger or discomfort, more of curiosity. "My relationship with your mother is our business."

Jody was persistent. "It affects me now and it will affect me in the future."

"How so?" Beau asked.

There was hesitation in Jody's voice when she spoke. "Once you leave Silver Creek I'm the one who has to pick up the pieces."

"And what makes you think I'm going to leave?"

"The same thing that makes my mother believe it. You're a Maverick. You're bound to go sometime."

Beau was taken aback. There was absolute certainty in Jody's voice and on her face. He looked at her very quietly and stated, "I love your mother."

The young woman in front of him shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Aunt Jessie had the Maverick wanderlust and you all do too. We both know that one day you'll get out of bed and not be able to stay here anymore. You'll try to fight it but it won't do any good. You'll make yourself and everyone around you miserable. And when you can't stand it one more day, one more hour, you'll go. And it won't matter how you feel about her. She'll still be here, and you'll be gone. And I'll have to deal with the consequences." She stopped just long enough to catch her breath. "You didn't see her when my father died. She loved him with every fiber of her being. She's strong and determined and that's the only reason she survived." Pause. "And now she's in love with you. And I don't know how she'll get through it when you go."

The man sitting behind the desk was stunned. And in that moment he faced a truth that he hadn't wanted to face for quite a while – she was absolutely right. And he was miserable. Beau let all the things that she just said filter through his mind. How could he not have seen this coming? Was he so blinded by his feelings for Georgia Mayfield that he allowed his knowledge of himself as an itinerant gambler and drifter to be ignored? Did he expect to change? Did he want to change? The answer to both questions was 'no.'

Overwhelming guilt and dejection washed over him. He allowed himself to become so wrapped up in the ongoing drama with Edgar Pike and his cousin that he closed his eyes to the pain he would eventually inflict on the woman he loved.

What was he going to do now? That was the question he had to ask himself. Now that he was aware of the potential pain and suffering he was going to cause Georgia, was it better to let both of them enjoy what they had for a while longer or end things now? Pull the bandage off slowly or quickly? Could he just take care of his day to day life and not answer all these questions?

Jody was still sitting in front of the desk talking. Beau hadn't heard a word she'd said for the past five minutes. What could he tell her? What should he tell her? "Jody?"

She was silent until he heard her say "Yes, Beauregard?"

"I'm going to marry your mother."


	29. Chapter 29 Marry That Girl

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 29 – Marry That Girl

Sheriff Bowman was in no mood for a Maverick this afternoon. That didn't stop the oldest one, Bret, from rushing into the jail and heading back to see his brother without so much as a 'by-your-leave.' "Where do you think you're going?" Mort blocked the hall into the cell area. Bret stopped abruptly and looked right through him.

"I'm going to break into a jail cell, Mort," was the reply.

"Not funny and not this time of day," the sheriff answered.

"It wasn't meant to be funny and why not this time of day?" Bret had about enough of this lawman who did everything but look for actual criminals.

"Because it's supper time and I don't want anybody in here now."

"I'll remember that if I'm ever in your jail," Bret said cynically.

"I can arrange for that right now if you'd like."

Bret heard that tone in the voice that said 'you've pushed this too far.' He decided it was time to be a little less demanding and a little more accommodating. "I'm sorry, Sheriff Bowman. I didn't realize it was time for supper. I hate to bother you but I have to leave town again and I really need to talk to Bart before I go. Can I have five minutes? I promise that's all it will be."

'_That was a little more like it,'_ thought the sheriff. _'I deserve some respect around here.' _"Alright, Maverick, go on back. FIVE MINUTES."

Bret forced a smile to his face, said "Thank you," and went back to Bart's cell. Bart was eating what looked to be Harry's beef stew but stopped as soon as he saw his brother. "Any luck?"

"Some. Maybe. What was the name of the hotel you stayed at in Barker Corners?"

Bart put down his fork while he thought. "Ah yes, a lovely little establishment called the Barker Corners Arms. Not the best accommodations I've ever had, but it was clean and cheap. Why?"

"Did you meet anybody while you were there?"

"I must have spent a total of 30 minutes in the hotel. Most of the time we were there I was at the Gambling Hall playing poker. No time to meet anyone. Not even of the female persuasion." Sure that Bret didn't have any more questions for him, Bart picked his fork back up. He was about to take another bite of stew when Bret interrupted his meal again.

"Are you sure? A cowboy, a ranch hand, another card sharp? Anybody?"

"Now that you mention it, there was a fella at the bar who kept watching me. Kept my eyes open just in case but the next time I looked in his direction he was gone. Who are you looking for?"

Bret shook his head. "Not exactly sure. There's a chance that Meyers or one of his running mates was at the hotel where you stayed. What did this man look like?"

"Let me see. Tallish. Youngish. Sandy hair. Kind of scruffy looking. Now that I think of it, I thought I recognized him from somewhere. I thought I'd played poker against him. But it wasn't that, really. There was something familiar about him, but not familiar at the same time. That doesn't make any sense, does it? I'd seen him but I can't place him. That wasn't Meyers, was it?"

"No, I don't think so. But it could've been one of the Sanborns. Don't have time to explain, but there's a reason I believe it was. I'm riding back to Barker Corners to find out."

"Now?" Bart asked him. "It's almost dark."

"Yes it is," Bret answered him, "and the judge and prosecutor arrive tomorrow. There's no time to waste. I have to go now." He reached through the bars of the cell and grabbed Bart by the shoulder. "Hang in there, Brother Bart, I'll be back soon."

"Sure, Bret. Be careful."

XXXXXXXX

Beau sat in the office an awfully long time after Jody left. He'd told her he was going to marry her mother and she hadn't even flinched. She just gave him an ear-to-ear smile, walked around the desk and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm not calling you Father," was her parting shot to him as she left the room.

What had he done? _'Calm down, Beauregard,_' he thought to himself. _'Marry. Hmmmm. Marry. Married. Husband and Wife. Mrs. Beau Maverick. Mrs. Beauregard Maverick. Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard Maverick.'_

The more he said it the better it sounded. Uncle Beauregard had extracted a solemn vow from Bret and Bart that they wouldn't marry until they were thirty-eight, but Beau had made no such promise. And Beau didn't know that Bart had broken his word due to a life-or-death promise made to Samantha Crawford.

Would it be so awful to be married? To be able to spend every minute of the day with a beautiful, exciting woman? Who just happened to be Georgia Mayfield?

Jody didn't seem to have a problem with it. She saw the way he looked at her mother. He held her hand, escorted her everywhere like a lady, treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy. And worked side by side with Georgia to build the saloon into an honest gaming house. Anybody who thought the Mavericks were a lazy bunch didn't see how much time they spent trying to convince people of that. It was an illusion they created for the public and their own amusement. He was loyal, charming, quick witted, and handsome. And family meant everything to the Mavericks. No, she had no problem with it at all.

By the time supper time rolled around Beau was quite happy with himself for having thought of it. Yes sir, he would marry the woman and stay in Silver Creek. There was enough action in the saloon to keep him happy most of the time, and he and Georgia could take the train or stage coach to Denver whenever he got restless. He'd be fine staying in one place. Then why was there this churning in his insides whenever he thought of settling down?

He chose to ignore the warnings his body was giving him and closed and locked the upstairs office. He went downstairs to see Georgia but her office was still empty_. 'Not like her,'_ he thought to himself_. 'I wonder what happened.' _

Alvin was still tending bar and when Beau pointed to the office door with a questioning look Alvin's shoulders replied 'I don't know.' Beau settled his hat on his head and pointed at the front door to the saloon. Alvin acknowledged the silent 'I'm leaving' by nodding. Harry would be there soon to assist with the evening business and Beau wanted to see if he could find Georgia.

He headed down the street in the direction of the Mayfield house but when he got close enough he could see there was no light in the windows. That meant no one home, so he turned around and aimed instead for the jail. At the last minute he ducked into the hotel and headed upstairs to his room. It wouldn't hurt to clean up and change clothes; maybe the knot in his stomach would go away. A short time later he left the hotel and resumed his walk to the jail.

He was surprised to find Willis again on duty instead of Bowman. It was unusual for Mort to be absent from 'his jail' in the evenings and Beau wondered what caused the change. When Beau turned the corner of the short hall that led to the cells he was startled to find Jody sitting there with Bart, but no Georgia. As always, he tipped his hat to Jody. The Mavericks were nothing if not a courteous bunch.

"Beauregard, I was just about to leave. You can have your cousin all to yourself, lucky dog." Jody stood up, patted Bart's hand through the bars, kissed Beau on the cheek, turned and was gone.

"That little girl is a force of nature," Bart remarked.

"That's not a little girl," Beau replied.

Bart chuckled. Beau was right, and if Bart didn't feel very protective of Jody he might have considered doing something about it. She was his sister, as far as Bart was concerned, and emotional family ties were just as binding as physical ones.

"So Cousin Beau, what brings you here twice in one day? Not enough to keep you busy at the saloon?"

"You're in fine form tonight, Cousin Bart. What's put you in such a good mood?"

"Bret came by earlier and took off on another lead in Barker Corners. Didn't share much with me but he thought it was urgent. So, you're on your own again with the saloon. Sorry I can't help. I'd like nothing more than to be sitting at a poker table right about now."

"I'd be happy to accommodate you if I could. But since I can't, I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Sure," answered his cousin. "What's so important that it couldn't wait tilll morning?"

Beau was slow to answer. "I was looking for Georgia, actually, and ended up here when I couldn't find her. Have you seen her today?"

"No. But then I don't get around much anymore. Have you lost her?"

"What?" Beau was plainly distracted and Bart wondered just what was on his mind. "I want to tell you something."

Bart was still trying to kid his cousin. "Go right ahead, Cousin Beau. You have a captive audience."

"I'm going to marry Georgia." There, he'd said it out loud to someone other than Jody. He waited for Bart's reaction.

Now it was Bart's turn. "What?"

"I'm going to marry Georgia Mayfield."

Bart shook his head in disbelief. "When did you decide this?"

"Earlier today."

"Any particular reason?" Besides the obvious, Bart meant.

"Because it's the right thing to do. And I love her."

Bart sank to his cot and looked up at Beau standing outside the cell. "You were so envious of my little prison here that you decided you wanted one of your own?"

There was silence in the jail. The only sound that could be heard was Deputy Willis softly snoring. Beau just stood there, not having an answer. Bart finally spoke again.

"I notice that you put the obligation ahead of the emotion."

"What does that mean?"

Bart had to tread carefully here, lest Beau misunderstand him. "You didn't mention love first. You talked about obligation, then love. Do you really love her or have you become dependent on her?"

That thought hadn't crossed Beau's mind. It was something to consider. If he was actually still considering this.

Beau answered as truthfully as he could. "I love her."

Bart waited for a moment before he answered. "Aha. I see." He paused and then said something unexpected. "Then all my best to you, Cousin Beau. I hope you and Georgia will be very happy."

That was it? Beau anticipated one of Uncle Beauregard's long lectures on the evil pitfalls of marriage. But Bart was always more like his mother than his father, and unbeknownst to Beau, had a very different way of looking at matrimony. Beau was secretly pleased that he didn't have to listen to 'the world according to Beauregard Maverick Sr.' right now. He knew that he loved Georgia and wanted to be with her; what he was unsure of still was the 'forever' part of it. But he'd made a choice and was sticking to it.

Bart was not about to try and change Beau's mind. His cousin seemed to have experienced a difficult time in the last months in Silver Creek and he would do what he wanted, whether it was the best thing for him or not. Bart discovered a long time ago that a man is going to do what a man wants to do, regardless of any and all advice he may receive to the contrary. Beau would either come to his senses or marry Georgia, and Bart intended to play no part in the decision.

"Well, then, no advise to give?" Beau asked tentatively.

"Absolutely none," was his cousin's answer. "I'm not really in a position to dispense great wisdom, am I?"

"Thanks, Bart." Beau stuck his hand through the bars of the cell. "I appreciate the restraint."

Bart shook hands with Beau. What else could he do? "See you in the morning?" he asked.

"As usual, Cousin Bart, as usual." Beau hurried off to look for Georgia.


	30. Chapter 30 Loose Ends

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 30 – Loose Ends

The stage from the county seat arrived the next day with Judge Horace Kincaid and Prosecuting Attorney Albie Grayson on board. Very rarely had there been a need for either a judge or a prosecutor in Silver Creek so when it was necessary they were dispatched from Lewistown in Fergus County. The judge had been in Silver Creek once before, the prosecutor had not. Attorney Hiram Foster met them at the stage and took them to the hotel. He had brief meetings first with Grayson and then Kincaid and then returned to the jail to see his client.

As usual, Foster had a captive audience. Bart had been in the cell for so long that he wanted something to happen; anything to happen. Enough of this waiting and the nightmare of a ten foot by ten foot cell. Hiram and Bart sat in that cell to discuss last minute details; Hiram was not a happy man.

"I don't have good news. The Judge is convinced that a jury could not render an impartial verdict, so the results will be decided by the magistrate himself." This was the thing that Hiram feared most of all; the town folk were more than sympathetic to the young man who had been so severely beaten and decidedly prejudiced against the deceased. Whatever advantage Bart would've gained by a jury trial had just been taken away from him by the ruling. Attorney Foster tried not to let his displeasure show around Bart; it was going to be hard enough to keep the defendants spirits up without acknowledging the added difficulty of not having a jury to decide the outcome. In addition Foster had been informed that the prosecutor would be seeking the maximum penalty, since Bart had openly threatened Pike's life. Bart's only reaction to that news was, "Great. At least I'll get out of this cell, even if it's only to go to the gallows."

"Don't think like that, Bart. Bret is looking for the real killer and there's still a good chance I can get you off on the lack of hard evidence."

Bart chuckled at what he perceived to be the absurdity of the situation. "Sure, Hiram, just because I was found with the murder weapon and blood on my hands doesn't mean I killed Edgar."

"I'll prove extenuating circumstances." Hiram was adamant.

"Yep. I wasn't in my right mind."

"Bart, stop it. We're not going to let you hang."

"I don't think it's going to be a choice, Hiram."

Once again there was resignation in Bart's voice. There was no way to keep his anxiety from getting the best of him; he careened between absolute hope and absolute despair. His ever changing emotions were causing him to experience daily headaches again. And the sleeplessness had returned with a vengeance. None of this he told his attorney.

"Have you talked to Bret since yesterday?"

The prisoner walked over to the jail cell window, a practice with which he had become accustomed. There was always something going on outside to temporarily distract him. "Nope. I assume he hasn't gotten back from Barker Corners. I don't know whether that's good or bad."

Hiram shook his head glumly. "I sure wish he'd hurry. It's always easier to prevent a trial from starting than to stop one when it's running."

"Hiram, I have no doubt that Bret will find Rusty Meyers and bring him back here. The only question is whether he does it before or after they hang me."

"That's not funny, Bart."

"I didn't mean it to be."

There wasn't much the attorney could say after that. The defense was as prepared as it could be given the circumstances. All they could do now was wait.

XXXXXXXX

Bart Maverick's trial for the murder of Edgar Pike was set to begin the next day; Bret hadn't returned from Barker Corners and Beau still hadn't talked to Georgia. Nothing seemed to be going right.

By the time Bret reached his destination he felt like he was ready to drop. Still, he pushed himself off his horse and inside the Barker Corners Arms. After some back and forth with the hotel clerk and the exchange of a twenty dollar bill Bret was allowed to see the hotel register for the night Bart was there. No names that he recognized, so he kept looking. Almost two weeks after Bart's visit, he found what he was looking for. Pete and Jack Sanborn, for three nights, sharing a room. Two nights after they first registered Rusty Meyers checked in. They resided for almost a week and then all three checked out.

They were staying in Barker Corners when Edgar was murdered. It all made sense. Barker Corners was no more than a two hour ride from the JP ranch, taking the route behind Silver Creek itself and through the brush land. It would be a small task to check in here, make sure that you were seen around town, and slip off to Edgar Pike's ranch to commit murder. You'd have a hotel receipt to prove you were here all along. Once you were in the clear it would be easy enough to dispose of the receipt. In an old stove in a dilapidated cabin in the woods, where no one would ever find it.

Except Bret had found it. Now all he had to do was find them.

XXXXXXXX

What Beau didn't know was that Georgia had gone to visit the ranch she and Holt Mayfield owned while they were married, and then on to spend time at his grave. There was a serious battle raging inside her and she needed to be with the man she'd loved for so many years. She sat in her buggy outside the cemetery and talked everything over with him. Surely he would understand her dilemma.

She'd never met anyone like Beau. There were plenty of gamblers in the saloon, most charming, slick and dishonest. Beau was none of those. He was truly a gentleman and a gentle man. He courted the façade of the disreputable card sharp but he certainly didn't fit the mold. None of the Maverick 'boys' did.

It was confusing for Georgia to feel this way again. She was sure when Holt was killed that her life would go on but her days of loving someone were over. Then Jessie died and the Mavericks came to town and her whole existence was upended. She told Holt everything that Bart made her consciously aware of and knew that it was all true. But the uproar in her soul raged on; she was older than him, she couldn't give him children, she had no intention of roving from town to town for the rest of her life. It wasn't supposed to be this way, but it was. She loved the man; there was no denying it. What was she going to do about it?


	31. Chapter 31 Ride With the Devil

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 31 – Ride With the Devil

The next morning was gloomy and dark. A perfect match for Bart's frame of mind. Hard to be any other way when you were about to go on trial for a murder you didn't commit.

Georgia and Jody were both at the jail to see Bart before he was taken to court. Jody was bright and optimistic; Georgia quiet and hopeful. Beau arrived just as Hiram Foster did and they stopped outside the sheriff's office for a moment to talk.

"Have you seen anything of Bret this morning?" was Hiram's first question. He was hoping against hope that the answer was a positive one.

Beau was forced to disappoint him. "No, I haven't seen or heard from him since he went to Barker Corners. I was hoping he's be back by now. When does this fiasco begin?"

Hiram almost chuckled at Beau's choice of words. "Ten o'clock. I want to talk to Bart one last time before we go over to the courthouse. Have you been in yet?"

"No, I just arrived. Georgia and Jody are in there with him, by the look of things. That's the Mayfield buggy," Beau indicated the horse and buggy tethered in front of the jail.

"Beau," Hiram started, and then hesitated. Bret wasn't around so Bart's attorney was forced to express his grave concerns to the cousin instead of the brother. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

Beau was alarmed. "You haven't told Bart that, have you?"

A shake of the head. "Of course not. I wouldn't do that to him. He's got enough on his mind." He turned and stared down the street. He needed to be extremely careful what he said to Beau, who was liable to repeat it to Bart at the most inopportune time. "I'm worried about this so-called evidence that Mort Bowman has. That's the biggest stumbling block I can see. We can explain away the threat and the gun; chalk the former up to hot-headed youth and the latter to a set-up. But I can't defend against evidence I know nothing about. Any ideas?"

"I wish I did, Hiram. I'm afraid the only idea I can come up with is breaking Bart out of jail and hightailing it out of this town. And I'd do it if it would work."

Hiram put his hand on Beau's shoulder to reassure the young man. "Well, son, I'll just have to be at my very best. That's what Bart deserves, after all. Let's go see if we can raise his spirits this morning, shall we?"

"Alright, Mr. Foster, allow me." Beau opened the jailhouse door and held it open for the attorney. Beau and Hiram walked in and found Mort Bowman and Deputy Willis both there and both very quiet.

"Beau. Hiram." Mort's greeting, accompanied by a nod to each of them.

"The Mayfield ladies?" Beau asked.

"In back with the prisoner. Just about time for them to leave. Got to take him over to the courthouse."

Beau turned the corner and found Jody holding Bart's hand through the cell and quietly talking to him. Georgia had brought him a change of clothes from the saloon and she was folding his discarded coat to return it to the same place. She looked up when she heard Beau and smiled. "Good morning," she mouthed to him. He tipped his hat and smiled back. "Morning, Mrs. Mayfield," he spoke gently.

"What is this, a funeral?" the prisoner asked. "Did I sleep through the trial? Come on, this isn't over, it's just starting." Whatever Jody told Bart had a dramatic effect; he was unfailingly gloomy when the ladies arrived and now sounded more like Jody than anyone. Jody released his hand and lightly kissed her own fingertips; she planted the transferred kiss on Bart's cheek. "For luck" she told him. She turned and put her arm through her mothers and the ladies departed.

Beau was glad to see Bart in a better mood than he'd expected; but Jody had that effect on people, especially Bart. They were bonded in a way that Beau had only seen between Bart and Bret; his youngest cousin didn't appear to be as close to anyone else. Beau envied him; Jody was a special person. He should know, he was in love with her mother.

Hiram cleared his throat and looked at Bart. "Ready to go?" Hiram asked.

"No, Hiram, but I sure am ready to get out of this cell. Any last minute instructions?"

Hiram shook his head. "Remember what I told you. Don't let anything Grayson says upset you. Don't say anything. Don't get angry. And most important – trust me."

Bart nodded just as Sheriff Bowman walked up. "Okay Maverick, back up in the cell. All the way to the wall." Deputy Willis stood right at the corner of the hallway exit with his gun drawn and pointed at Bart. "Make any break for it and Willis has instructions to shoot. Put your hands out."

Bart did as he was told and extended his wrists. Bowman slapped a pair of handcuffs on him and pulled him to the front of the cell. Then he pulled his own gun and pointed it at Beau and Hiram. "Back up away from the prisoner," he instructed them. He marched Bart out of his home for the past month and through the jail. Out the door they went and all Beau could do was watch. He'd never felt so helpless in his whole life.

Bret knew that his brother's trial had started but he was chasing a cold trail through the Montana countryside. Meyers and the Sanborns, at least one of them, appeared to be headed southwest in no particular hurry. Bret was gaining on them but was still at least two or three days behind. They were erratic at best, sometimes staying in a town and sometimes sleeping on the trail. They hadn't robbed or killed anyone yet; the worst thing they'd managed was a bar fight in Cedar Grove. That's when Bret discovered there were only two of them; the descriptions fit Meyers and Pete. Jack Sanborn seemed to have disappeared after Cedar Grove; unbeknownst to Bret he'd circled around and headed back towards Silver Creek, still determined to find a better path.

He finally caught a break when he got to Jackson Flats and found that Meyers and Sanborn had been in jail for two nights and he was only about half a day behind them. After talking to the sheriff in Jackson Flats he turned around and headed back the way he'd come; during the hours prior to their release the prisoners had discussed Bart's upcoming trial endlessly and made the decision to head back towards its location. The sheriff believed that the event held some particular interest for them. Bret passed on a night at the hotel and instead traded his roan gelding and fifty dollars for a fresh horse. He was becoming more desperate by the minute and couldn't take the chance of them slipping through his fingers. He headed out for Silver Creek via the back roads in hopes of making up the half day the outlaws were still ahead of him. He could only pray that the trial would last long enough for him to catch up to them.

The trial had convened with both attorneys making an opening argument. Grayson contended that Bart was a 'man crazed with pain and intent on seeking revenge on the innocent victim, who he blamed for the beating' even though there was no proof to that effect. Foster, of course, argued that the so-called threat that Maverick made on Edgar Pike's life was 'no more than an attempt to make the man worry for no reason.' Bart was 'innocent of the charge of murder and would be proven so.'

Grayson called Burt Felton as his first witness. The foreman told how Pike had relayed the entire Maverick visit to him and ended with Bart's threat to kill Edgar. Hiram cross-examined and got Burt to admit that he hadn't actually heard the threat; he'd just heard what Pike told him had been threatened.

The next witness was one of the girls from the saloon who repeated how angry Bart had gotten over the prospect of Pike winning the lawsuit he's brought against the Mavericks. Again, on cross-examination Foster got her to admit that she hadn't actually seen the anger; she'd just heard gossip about it.

After recess was called for lunch the prosecutor finally had an unimpeachable source to call – Doc Washburn. After a long detailed explanation of the damage inflicted on Bart by the three masked gunmen, Albie Grayson got to the heart of his witness' testimony.

"Doctor Washburn, did Mr. Maverick come to see you sometime after his physical wounds appeared to be healed to discuss an ongoing problem he was having?" The prosecutor was tall and elegant looking, with a full head of silver gray hair and a trim set of whiskers. Doc Washburn looked at him as if he couldn't stand the man.

"Yes."

"And can you tell us the nature of that problem?"

"He was still in a lot of pain."

"What kind of pain, Doctor?"

"Ringing in the ears; headaches." Doc's answers were terse and unembellished

"And wasn't there something else wrong?"

"Yes."

"What was that, Doctor Washburn?"

"He'd had a blackout."

"Please elaborate, Doctor."

"What do you mean, elaborate? A blackout is a blackout." Bart was trying not to get uneasy, listening to the doctor attempt to be as evasive as he could.

"Explain a blackout, please, Doctor Washburn."

"It's a blackout! You pass out, aren't conscious, don't know what you did. You don't remember anything."

"Did he complain of only one, doctor?"

Doc Washburn thought back over what Bart had told him the morning he first came to see him about the problem. "Far as I can remember, yeah."

"But there might have been more?"

"I rightly don't remember."

'And were you consulted when another blackout occurred?"

"Yes."

"And when was that?"

"After Bart was arrested."

"For a blackout that occurred the night of Edgar Pike's murder?"

"Yes."

"And what did the defendant tell you, Doctor?"

"About what?"

"About the blackout he suffered the night that Mr. Pike died."

"Just that. He'd had a blackout. He couldn't remember what happened after he went to bed."

"And?"

"And that when he became aware of his surroundings he was fully dressed in his hotel room."

"Anything else, Doctor?"

Doc Washburn looked down at the courtroom floor. He didn't want to answer any of the questions, but so far he'd had to. He really didn't want to answer this one. "He was holding a gun that he didn't recognize."

"Did the gun have blood on it, Doctor?"

"Yes."

"Was it Mr. Maverick's blood? Was he cut or bleeding anywhere?"

"No."

"Nothing further, your honor."

Hiram rose to try and mitigate the damage Doc Washburn had done. "What usually happens to a person suffering a blackout, Doctor?"

"You mean like what do they do?"

"Yes, please."

"Not much, usually. Sleep."

"Would it be normal for a man who was severely beaten about the head to have these blackouts?"

"Yes, it would be."

"And would it be normal for that same man to get up from his bed, get fully dressed, leave his hotel via a window on the second floor, saddle his horse, ride out of town to another location, break into a home with a heavy wooden door, shoot and pistol whip another man, ride back to his hotel, stable his horse, climb back in through the hotel window and not remember any of it?"

"No. It most certainly would not be normal."

"Thank you, Doctor Washburn. No further questions."

Albie Grayson rose from his seat. "One last question, Doctor. Even though it might not be normal, a man who had been as severely damaged in the head as Mr. Maverick might still be able to do all those things, might he not?"

Doc Washburn hung his head and very quietly said "Yes."


	32. Chapter 32 Critical Mass

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 32 – Critical Mass

Judge Kincaid recessed the trial at six o'clock. It had been a long, arduous day for everyone. Sheriff Bowman put the handcuffs back on Bart, drew his gun and took the prisoner back to his cell. Hiram and Beau followed at a safe distance. Harry was waiting at the jail with Bart's dinner. He took one look at the food and sent Harry back to the saloon with it. Mort put him back in the cell, locked the door and returned to his desk. Hiram and Beau were left with Bart. No one spoke at first.

"Well, look at it this way," Bart finally offered. "They can only hang me once."

Beau looked at his cousin and shook his head. "Sorry, Bart. You know Doc Washburn didn't want to answer those questions."

"I know. But he told the truth, and that's all I could expect."

Hiram looked at Bart and could see the pain in his eyes. "Things will sound different when we get to present our case."

Bart stuck his hand out through the bars to shake Hiram's hand. "Hiram, I couldn't ask for a better attorney. I'm glad you're on my side."

"It's real easy to be, Bart. I know you didn't do it."

The sound of laughter filled the jail. "Oh, that's a good one. I wish everyone knew that!"

Hiram picked up his briefcase and turned to go. "I'll be here in the morning in case there's anything you need before we go to court. Tomorrow could get rough."

"Couldn't be worse than today," Bart said hopefully.

Hiram Foster looked at his client and couldn't lie to him. "Yes, it could."

"Great. Won't that be fun?"

Before Hiram could dig the hole any deeper he left. Beau and Bart looked at each other through the bars of the cell and Beau shook his head. "Is it too early to ask you to be my best man?"

"Oh yeah. Have you talked to Georgia yet?"

"No, I thought that could wait until this is all over."

Now it was Bart's turn. "Don't wait too long, cousin, or you might have to ask Brother Bret. Course he does clean up nicely so you should be okay."

"Don't kid, Bart. Nothing is happening until you're out of this jail."

Bart got serious. "One way or the other, Beauregard, I will get out. I'm just not sure if I'll walk out to a wedding or a noose."

"It will be a wedding, Cousin. No more talk of hangings."

They were both quiet for a minute as each pondered the implications of Beau's remark.

"If this doesn't go well, Beau, there are some things we need to talk about."

Beau hesitated to ask but he needed to know what his cousin meant. "Such as?"

Bart was in the mood to be brutally honest. "Such as personal belongings and where they should go. What I want you to tell Pappy. Where I want to be buried. And why." He paused for a moment before continuing. "There are things you don't know that you need to. And I need to explain to you why I never told you before. And some things you'll need to tell Bret that I can't."

Beau lowered his head so that Bart couldn't see his eyes, so he wouldn't see the tears. His voice was clear. "Alright. But we'll not talk about those things now." It took him a minute before he could continue. "How about I send Harry back with a big, fat juicy steak rather than that pitiful dinner he brought before?"

Bart didn't have the heart to tell Beau he wouldn't touch whatever Harry brought up. "Sure. But cook it well done, would you? Harry tends to think the steer needs to still moo at me. I need the darn thing dead. And bring plenty of coffee."

"That I can do, Cousin Bart. I'll see you in the morning." Beau left before he could get any more emotional.

Bart sat down on the cot. Thank God they were all gone. He didn't have to pretend anymore. He was shaking inside and soon his whole body followed suit. The pounding in his head increased until he couldn't hear anything, including his own heartbeat. He finally stretched out as much as he could and buried his face in the blanket. _'Make it stop,_' was the only thought he had.

But it didn't stop. It got worse and worse until he couldn't breathe anymore. Harry picked that exact moment to deliver the steak dinner and dropped the entire tray as soon as he saw Bart lying there. "Sheriff, get the doctor!" he yelled as loud as he could. "Boss, boss, hold on!"

It wasn't five minutes before Doc Washburn got there. Bowman was right behind him and unlocked the cell door. He was so rattled by the entire incident that he didn't even bother telling Harry to stand back before doing so. Doc rushed in and immediately went to the prone man he had just finished testifying against. "Bart, can you hear me?"

The pain and the noise were agonizing. Something was happening around him but Bart didn't understand what. He heard a voice and knew he should be able to tell who it was but it was muffled and unintelligible. Then hands were poking and pushing on his head and every fingertip that he felt was sheer torture. Suddenly a light flashed in his brain, the thunder in his head roared and then – sweet oblivion.

"Mort, go get me a wet cloth," Doc Washburn ordered the sheriff. "And have Willis bring me as many blankets as you've got – this man is freezing. Harry, here's my keys. Go over to my office and get that bottle of reddish-brown liquid that's on the top shelf of my locked cabinet. And hurry, man!" Doc handed Harry the keys and turned back to Bart. "If you can hear me, son, just hang on. Helps comin'." Mort returned with a wet rag that Doc used to wipe the sweat off of Bart's face and neck. Then he looked back up at the sheriff. "Get yourself down to the saloon, Mort, and get Beau Maverick. And you better bring Jody Mayfield with you too, if she's there. This boy is havin' some sort of seizure and I don't know if he's gonna make it."

For once Mort didn't argue. He took off for the saloon as fast as he could go. Doc did the best he could to keep Bart wiped down and covered up at the same time. As badly as his face and neck were sweating, his whole body was still shaking with cold. Harry returned with the bottle Doc needed and helped him raise Bart's head enough to get some of the liquid down his throat. He swallowed reflexively and in two or three minutes the shaking had calmed down significantly.

Beau came running in followed closely by Mort. Jody was several steps behind the two men. "What's happened, Doc?" Beau asked anxiously.

"I'm not sure," Doc Washburn answered tentatively. "He collapsed and had a seizure of some kind. It seems to have backed off some. I gave him laudanum and I don't know if that helped or it just started to run out of steam. Mort, you can't leave him alone in this cell tonight."

Beau pushed his way through the men outside the cell and knelt next to the cot. He cradled Bart's head in his hands and leaned down by his ear. "Bart,' he whispered, "we're all here. Stay with us, Bart. Come back to us."

Jody knelt next to Beau on the cell floor. "Bartley Maverick, you come back, you hear. I need my big brother," she whispered tenderly. Then her voice broke and she let out a sob. "Don't you go!"

Slowly the shaking stopped and his breathing returned to almost normal. It appeared that whatever had happened was over for now. Mort took heed of Doc Washburn's edict and slipped a handcuff on one of Bart's wrists; the other side he closed around one of the cell bars. "Doc, you can stay in the cell with him. Maverick, I'll leave the cell open and Willis can get you another cot. Miss Jody, you'll have to go on home."

Jody looked up at the sheriff with tears running down her face and defiantly said "No. I'm not leaving. I'll stay right here on the floor if I have to, but I'm not going anywhere tonight."

Beau looked at Willis as he brought a cot into the jail hallway and set it down. "Deputy, find me a chair. Jody can take the cot. None of us are leaving here." Bowman looked at Deputy Willis in exasperation and let out a long sigh. "Get the man a chair, Deputy," the sheriff declared, and went back to his desk in the front of the jail. Doc Washburn turned to Harry. "Go back over to my office and bring my bag over here. It's on the floor next to my desk. Then go to the hotel and tell Judge Kincaid what's happened. I don't think this boy's gonna be fit to sit in a courtroom tomorrow. Then go find Hiram and get him down here." Doc thought for a moment and then asked, "You haven't seen Bret come back yet, have you?"

Harry shook his head 'no.' "Not yet, Doc," he answered.

"Alright, then that's all you can do for now."

Beau reached out and grabbed Harry's arm. "Wait, Harry, when you go back to the saloon tell Mrs. Mayfield what happened and tell her that Jody and I are staying here tonight. Make sure she gets home safe, see to it, please?"

"Yes, sir, boss," Harry answered, and left to execute all the tasks he'd been given.

With Harry gone Beau turned to the doctor. "What now, Doc? I thought he was past all this?"

"Well, Beau, I did too. Guess you can never tell what the brain is causin' the body to do and vice versa. Coulda been too much for him to handle all at once. Plus we don't know how healed up he really is inside. Ya know by all rights he shoulda died months ago, the night he got that pistol whippin'. Maybe this is just his body's way of catchin' up to that. Anyway, it looks like he's settled down for now. Probably be quiet through the night with no more trouble. Leastwise I hope so. That's why I'm stayin' right here." Doc got up from his sitting position on the floor and gave a hand to Jody to pull her to her feet. "Jody, you move the cot over to the other wall so that you're here inside with us. Beau, you stay close."

Beau pulled the chair right next to the cell door, then moved the other cot inside for Jody. She smoothed Bart's hair from his face and leaned down to kiss his cheek, then lay down on the cot against the cell wall. It seemed curiously odd to see a woman in a jail cell.

Beau sat down and put his feet up on his normal 'visiting' chair. He leaned over once again to Doc before settling in for the night. "Doc, tell me the truth. Is Bart going to be alright?"

Doc answered the best he could. "I don't know, Beau. I just don't know."


	33. Chapter 33 The Shadow

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 33 – The Shadow

The night was quiet and as peaceful as it could be considering the circumstances. Doc was awake most of the night, checking regularly on a patient that seemed to be tranquilly sleeping. Jody tossed and turned on the uncomfortable cot and Beau was up, then down, then up again. Judge Kincaid sent back word almost immediately after Harry delivered his message that court would be postponed for twenty-four hours, minimum, to see if the defendant survived. Bart was the only one seemingly undisturbed, but Doc didn't know if he was drugged, unconscious or sleeping.

Sunrise brought Georgia with coffee cups and a pot of coffee. Deputy Willis was thankful to have someone else's coffee for a change and wandered back to the cell to see if the prisoner was still alive. He found Georgia pulling a blanket up over Jody and Beau pouring a cup. He wiggled the pot in Willis' direction and the Deputy brought his cup over. The coffee was fresh and hot and smelled delicious. Doc appeared to be examining Maverick.

"Any change?" Willis inquired.

"None that I can tell," Doc answered. "I'd feel better if he'd wake up."

Beau took his cup over to Bart's cot and stood over his motionless relative. "How long can this continue?" he asked Doc plaintively.

"I'd give you an answer if I had one, Beau. I just don't know."

Bart chose that moment to let out a small groan and moved slightly. Slowly, painfully, he partially opened one eye, then the other. _'What the hell?'_

He was on the cot in his jail cell. There was daylight streaming in the back window, the way it always did in the morning. He tried to pull a blanket up over his head and discovered his wrist handcuffed to the cell bars. He blinked his eyes slowly and the bottom half of his cousin came into focus. He shifted his gaze slightly right and saw Doc Washburn sitting on the cell floor. _'What? Why?'_

"Bart?" It was Doc. This time he recognized the voice.

"Hmmmmpf?" His mouth didn't want to work so he made the only noise he could.

"Bart, can you hear me?" That was Beau, interrupting his conversation with Doc as usual.

"Be — Bea —Beau?" It took a try or two but he finally said something intelligible.

"Bart, I'm here. We're all here. Doc, Jody, Georgia. Do you remember what happened?"

He searched his memory with little success. There were bits and pieces, but not much else. The sheriff brought him back to the jail, he talked to Hiram and Beau, everybody left. Ah, the pain and roaring in his head. Then – nothing. Until now.

"Not — not really." It was difficult to speak from the position he was in. Deputy Willis put his coffee cup down and unlocked the handcuffs from the cell bars, then from Bart's wrist. He didn't figure to try an escape with the way he was moving.

Bart struggled to sit up and he couldn't so he settled for rolling over onto his back. His wrist was sore where the handcuffs had been and he rubbed it cautiously. "What happened?"

Doc Washburn moved from the floor to the edge of the cot. "You had some kind of a seizure, son. Harry found you struggling to breathe and they sent for me." Doc let it go at that. He didn't need all the details right now.

Bart looked up at Beau and saw Jody and Georgia standing behind him. Georgia had a worried look on her face but Jody wore a smile that spread from ear to ear. He reached a hand out for her and she pushed her way to the front and grasped his. "Hey Bartley. You gave us quite a scare."

"Sorry, didn't mean to."

"I know. Doc will take care of you. I'm going home for a while. I'll be back later to see you."

"Good. Don't stay away." He let go of Jody's hand and looked toward Beau. "Bret?"

"Nothing yet. He'll be here soon, I bet. Must have a lead by now."

Doc Washburn insisted on examining Bart's eyes. He didn't like what he saw. He stood up and started to shoo everyone out of the cell. "Alright, get along home. Bart needs rest for now, not all you standin' around yammerin'. Go on, leave him be. You can visit later." He ran everyone else out of the cell, then turned back to Bart. "I want you to try and get some sleep, son. That's the best thing for you right now." Doc moved what had been Jody's bed out of the cell and closed the cell door behind him. Deputy Willis locked the door and went back to his desk. Doc pulled Beau, Jody and Georgia with him out of earshot.

"Still not exactly sure what happened, but the boy needs some sleep. See what you can do about keeping everybody away today. I'm gonna tell Willis not to let anyone in. I'll be back as soon as I get some things taken care of. Skedaddle now, all of ya."

Doc followed behind them to make sure they actually left. Just as he was about to leave Hiram Foster walked in. Doc took Hiram's arm and pulled him outside. They sat on the rocking chairs in front of the jail.

"What happened last night?" Hiram asked the physician.

Doc shook his head, again trying to explain the unexplainable. "Don't really know for sure. Best as I can tell he had a seizure of some sort. Partially caused by my darn fool testimony, not doubt. Thought I might lose him there for a while. He's sleepin' now." The doctor turned and looked at the attorney. "Understand the Judge gave us a reprieve on court for today?"

"Yes, he did. Is there any chance Bart's going to be fit to go to court tomorrow?"

"Probably not. But let's wait till a little later in the day before I give you a firm answer. He seems to recover from things pretty quick; maybe that's part of the problem. Outside looks well but inside doesn't really heal. Anyways, I'll know more after lunch. I'll come up to your office after I examine him."

"Sounds good, Doctor. Do what you can for him, will you? This year's been real tough on him."

Doc Washburn nodded his head vigorously. "You and me know that better'n most anybody else in the town. Bout time he caught a break."

The doctor and the attorney both stood and shook hands. "See you later, Hiram."

"I'll be in my office, Orin. Keep me apprised of Bart's condition."

"I will." Doc turned back to the jail. He still had to tell Willis not to allow Bart any visitor's today; he needed all the rest he could get. Hiram walked back up the street to his office.

A stranger in town watched all the action from a distance. He'd been in 'The Three Mavericks' last night playing roulette when the sheriff came flying through the swinging doors looking for Beau Maverick. He hung around the saloon long enough to find out what happened at the jail and then picked up his meager winnings and rode out of town to his campsite. He relayed the events to his brother and their friend and rode back into town this morning to find out what was going on. There had been some doubt as to the health and survival of the man currently on trial for murder but now it appeared that matters had settled down, at least temporarily. As far as he and his companions were concerned a good ending to all of this would occur if the prisoner died. So far, no luck.

Pete Sanborn rolled a cigarette and leaned against the hitching rail next to the hotel. Commotion had quieted down at the jail and looked like it might stay that way for a while. Court was postponed for today. No word yet about tomorrow. No sense in remaining here when there was nothing to be seen or heard. Pete mounted his horse and rode quietly out of town, back to the spot near Silver Creek where he, his brother Jack and Rusty Meyers had joined up again and made camp.


	34. Chapter 34 The Rusty Gun

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 34 – The Rusty Gun

Sure enough, the sheriff of Jackson Flats was right. The 'Meyers Gang', as he'd come to think of them, was headed back towards Silver Creek. Bret wondered if they were returning to the little ramshackle cabin he'd found and was glad he'd replaced the burned clue in the stove. He was closer to them now, having made up some time and ground on the riders. He was halfway to his destination when the tracks of a third rider joined them. The missing brother. Good, they were all together now.

There was nothing to do but think as he rode on, ever closer to finding the real killer or killers. He drifted back over the years, through all the scrapes and scratches and messes they'd been in, and felt exceedingly lucky that they'd all come out this side relatively unscathed. Until this one, that is. What would he have done if Bart had been killed? Drifted around from town to town with Beau or gone off alone? Thank God he didn't have to find out. Much of a pain in the butt as Bart was sometimes, Bret had no desire to be an only child. Of course if Bart was gone he wouldn't exactly be an only child; Beau was like another brother. But it wasn't quite the same – there was a bond between the blood brothers that couldn't be broken. That's what bothered Bret so much about the last few days on the trail of Meyers and the Sanborns – something was wrong and he couldn't put his finger on it. Bart was on his mind constantly.

Another cold blast of air whipped past him and he wished with all his might that he'd gotten a heavier jacket before taking off after the gang. Plenty of time for that once this was over and Bart was free. Was there really? Were they going to stay on through winter in Silver Creek? They'd already been there longer than almost any place else, save for Texas where they grew up. Wasn't it already past time to go? And what would they do with the saloon if they left? Then an unpleasant thought shoved its way into Bret's consciousness. What if he was the only one that wanted to leave? Could he go by himself, knowing that the kin he was closest too was way up in Montana without him? Would he go by himself? Was it time to find a home and settle down?

There was a thought. Settling down. Hmmm. Pappy had long ago extracted the promise from his boys that they wouldn't marry until they were 38. Bart had broken that promise but Pappy didn't know. Anyway, she was gone now so it didn't matter. But marriage and settling down were two different things. Pappy and Uncle Bentley had both married and settled, staying in one place long enough to raise their children. What was wrong with that? Was Pappy's edict given because he wished he hadn't married? No, he truly loved Belle Maverick and was devastated when she died. Maybe there was such a thing as Maverick wanderlust, after all.

So much was going through Bret's mind as he rode that he missed the turn he was supposed to make. It was an hour or more later before he realized that he'd double-backed and was headed to the town rather than the creek itself. Dang!

He made a turn and took a short cut back towards the creek and that's when he realized that lady luck had switched sides and was back in his pocket after all. He heard them before he saw them, thank goodness. Voices, three men talking quietly. Just off the trail and to the north, way back behind the Ponderosa pines. The 'gang' seemed to like hiding in the forest.

Bret stopped his horse and listened. He couldn't make out what they were saying at first because of the wind but he got enough.

" – seems there was some kind of something happened day before yesterday. Doctor didn't know if he was gonna live but he did. Trials been on hold since; they're supposed to . . . . . . tomorrow."

"Just our luck," came what sounded like the older voice. "Couldn't just die like he was supposed to . . . . . this would have been over a long time ago . . . . . guess there's no sense of leaving for good till we know . . . .hangs or not."

"Really want to . . . . . . here until then? Could be five or six more days. What if . . . . ?"

"Nah, nobody's lookin' . . . . . us. If somebody comes snoopin' . . . . go back to that run down . . . . "

Bret's heart was pounding. What had they said about Bart? "Something happened day before yesterday. Doctor didn't know if he was gonna live – "The only thing he was sure of was that his brother was still alive. He had to get back to Silver Creek. From what he picked up the gang was going to stay where they were until they knew Bart's fate. That gave him time to get the sheriff and a posse and leave nothing to chance when it came down to capturing these three. He walked his horse back out the way he'd come and took off at a gallop as soon as he was sure he could no longer be heard. Everything was forgotten except one thing – whatever had happened, Bart was alive.

It was almost two days later when the trial got restarted. Bart was still shaky but better than he'd been immediately after the collapse. They all went through the same routine as the first day of the trial, but Sheriff Bowman brought the prisoner into court without handcuffs upon the advice of the prosecutor. No sense making him look like even less of a threat to escape than he had previously. The whole town, including Judge Kincaid, was well versed in how the trial was almost over before it'd much begun.

Albie Grayson was ready to continue his case and ready to call his star witness – Sheriff Mort Bowman. After swearing the sheriff in Grayson began his methodical questioning, leading up to the discovery of Edgar Pike's body. "And what did you find when you entered the Pike home, Sheriff?"

Mort was succinct. "I found the body. Mr. Pike had been shot through the heart and then pistol whipped. Or vice versa. It was hard to tell which came first."

"And did you find a weapon, sheriff?"

"No."

"None at all?"

"No."

"What did you do then?"

"I rode back to town and sent the coroner out to get the body."

"And once that had been accomplished?"

Sheriff Bowman cleared his throat. "I went to Bart Maverick's hotel room to arrest him, just as I promised I would."

"And did you arrest him?"

"Yes I did. I put him in handcuffs and turned him over to Deputy Willis, to be taken to jail."

"And what, if anything, did you see when you entered the room and made the arrest?"

"Bart Maverick was fully dressed, sitting up in the bed. He had his gun in his hand and there was blood on the gun. Also on his hands and shirt. The room was a mess, with personal belongings scattered all over the floor, including a lamp that had been on the table. The window was wide open."

"Who else was in the room?"

"Bret Maverick, his brother, and Beauregard Maverick, his cousin."

"No one else?"

"No sir."

Grayson turned back to the prosecutor's table momentarily. He picked up something that had been hidden in his briefcase. It was the photo of Jessie Maverick and her brothers as children. "Sheriff, did you find this photo in the room?" He handed the picture to Bowman.

Mort took the photo and looked at it. "Yes I did."

"And where was it? Was it out in the open, in plain sight?"

"No sir, it was hidden on the table under Mr. Maverick's saddle bags."

'"Excuse me, sheriff, did you say hidden?"

"Yes sir, it was underneath the saddle bags, kinda tucked inside where it couldn't be easily seen."

"And had you ever seen this photograph before, Sheriff Bowman?"

"Yes sir, many times."

"And where exactly did you see it?"

"It was in a frame on the mantel of Edgar Pike's fireplace."

"And how do you know this is the same photograph, Sheriff?"

"Jessie Maverick kept the photo on the mantel for years and told everyone that it was the only picture in existence of her with her brothers."

"Would Jessie have given it to her nephews?"

"Maybe. But she didn't."

"And how do you know that sir?"

"Because I saw it on Edgar Pike's mantel the day before he died."

"You saw it, Sheriff?"

"Yes sir, I went out to the JP Ranch to talk to Edgar about the threat that Mr. Maverick made. I was in the house, sitting in front of the fire with Edgar."

"Are you sure this is the same photograph, Sheriff Bowman?"

"Yes sir, I am."

"No further questions, your honor." With that Albie Grayson took his seat, a smile of satisfaction on his lips.

Hiram Foster stood to question Sheriff Bowman. "Sheriff, did you actually hear Mr. Maverick allegedly threaten Mr. Pike?"

"No, I wasn't there when the threat was made."

"And to your knowledge, was there anyone who heard the alleged threat?"

"Yes, there was. Mr. Bret Maverick and Mr. Beauregard Maverick."

"They are the accused's brother and cousin, Sheriff?"

"They are."

"And did you question them about the alleged threat?"

"I did."

"And what did they tell you?"

"That neither one was close enough to hear anything."

"So they denied hearing any kind of threat?"

"Yes, they denied it."

"Did anyone else hear the alleged threat?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"So we have an alleged threat made to Mr. Pike that no one else heard, is that correct?"

"Well, when you put it like that, I guess so. But Maverick never denied making the threat against Edgar."

"Isn't the lack of a denial different than actually admitting something?"

Bowman refused to answer. Judge Kincaid leaned over and told him "Answer the question, Sheriff."

"I suppose."

"Now Sheriff, turning your attention to the gun. I believe you said when you entered Mr. Maverick's hotel room he had his gun in his hand. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's correct."

Hiram waited for just a moment before asking, "How do you know it was his gun?"

"Well, I," the sheriff sputtered, "He was holding it. His gun belt and holster were on the bed and they were empty. There was no other gun in the room. I assumed it was his gun."

"I see," Hiram stated dramatically. "You assumed it was his gun. Did you ask him if it was his?"

"No."

"Did he tell you it was his gun?"

"No."

"Did he not, in fact, tell you repeatedly that the gun you found was not his gun?"

"That's what he said, yeah."

"Did you believe him?"

"No."

"Why didn't you believe him?"

"Well who else's gun was it gonna be if it wasn't his?"

"Didn't you say there were two other men in the room when you arrested Mr. Maverick? His brother and cousin, I believe."

"Yes."

"Did you check their guns?"

The sheriff hesitated. Darn it! "No, I didn't."

'Do you know if they were wearing guns?"

"No, I don't."

"So there were two other men in the room who may or may not have been wearing guns and you didn't check to see if the gun was theirs. Is that correct?"

Sheriff Bowman had been caught failing to do his job properly. He sat there for a moment and then said "Yes."

"In fact, you were told several times by Mr. Bret Maverick and Mr. Beau Maverick that the gun in your possession, the one you believe was used to kill Edgar Pike, did not, in fact, belong to Mr. Bart Maverick. Isn't that correct?"

"Yes. Several times by each one."

"And doesn't the weapon that you removed from Bart Maverick's possession have a rather distinctive notch carved on the bottom of the grip? That looks like a lightning bolt?"

"Yes, it does. I identified the gun earlier."

"Your honor, if It please the court, at this time I would like to introduce into evidence a sworn affidavit, signed by U.S. Marshal Travis Cole of Fern Creek, Montana attesting to the fact that Marshal Cole arrested one Rusty Meyers and held him in jail and that during that incarceration Marshal Cole had in his possession Mr. Meyers gun. On that gun there was the exact same lightning bolt notch carved in the bottom of the grip. In other words, the gun that Bart Maverick protested was not his in fact belongs to Rusty Meyers, a well-known bank robber and petty criminal." Hiram walked over to the bench and presented Judge Kincaid with the affidavit. The Judge looked it over carefully.

"Alright, Mr. Foster, the court will accept this affidavit as true and correct."

Hiram returned to the defense table. "Sheriff Bowman, does this affidavit not prove that Mr. Maverick was telling the truth, that the gun found in his possession was in fact the gun that belonged to Mr. Rusty Meyers?"

"If it was Rusty Meyer's gun what was Bart Maverick doing with it?"

"That's a good question, sheriff. Did you ever ask it?"

Mort was very quiet. "No."

"So as far as you know the gun in question could very well have been the same gun that belongs to Rusty Meyers?"

"I guess so."

"Wouldn't that lead you to ask how Mr. Maverick got the weapon and what he was doing with it?"

"I guess."

"Could one of those ways be that the gun was planted on Mr. Maverick and he was relieved of his own gun?"

"He could have gotten it a lot of different ways."

"But couldn't one of those ways be the way I suggested? That Mr. Maverick's own gun was taken from him and Rusty Meyers' gun was left in its place? The very same gun that was used to pistol whip and murder Mr. Pike?"

"I suppose so."

"And wouldn't that suggest to you that in fact it was Rusty Meyers that murdered Edgar Pike and not Bart Maverick?"


	35. Chapter 35 Posse Comitatus

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 35 – Posse Comitatus

The day in court had actually gone better than Hiram Foster could have hoped for. They made inroads into Sheriff Mort's testimony and proved that no one had actually heard Bart Maverick threaten Edgar Pike. And the testimony about the gun was all in Bart's favor. The only problem came from the 'Indisputable Proof' that Mort Bowman had provided – the photo of Jessie and her brothers. It was going to be up to Hiram to make the judge believe that the photo was part of the plan to point the guilty finger at Bart rather than the real murderer.

The prosecution rested after the Sheriffs testimony. Without any viable evidence pointing at anyone else, Albie Grayson thought he had a strong case. The defense was slated to begin the next day, and the list of witnesses was short - Beau, Bret if he returned, and Bart.

Hiram had Beau come to his office so they could discuss the agenda for the next day. The attorney wanted to be sure that he and Beau were on the same page and there would be no embarrassing moments like Mort Bowman had. Which is how Beau once again missed Bret's return to town.

Bret was about forty miles south of exhaustion by the time he got back to Silver Creek. His first stop was the jail. He needed to get Sheriff Bowman to round up a posse and go apprehend Rusty Meyers and the Sanborns. Convincing the Sheriff to do just that would take all of the silver-tongued skill Bret Maverick could manage.

He remembered the last time he'd strode into the jail demanding that Mort allow him to do something and took a different approach. He walked in quietly and determined to stay as charming and pleasant as he could manage – no matter what the sheriff threw at him.

Hat in hand, full of trail dust and cold as a rattle snakes heart, Bret plastered a friendly smile on his face and the same tone in his voice. "Morning, Sheriff Bowman."

Mort looked up and was surprised to see him back in town. "Well, look what the wind blew in."

Bret forced a laugh. "Good one, Mort. Say, I need your help doing something."

'_Oh no, here it comes,_' thought the lawman. He gritted his teeth. "What would that be, Mr. Maverick?"

Bret steeled himself for the resistance he anticipated. "I know where Rusty Meyers and the Sanborn boys are. I'd like to help you round up a posse to go out and bring them in."

Bowman fiddled with something on his desk before looking up. "And just why would I want to do that?"

Maverick kept the tone of his voice even and steady. "Because they tried to kill my brother and Meyers is responsible for Edgar Pike's death."

A tiny smile slowly crept across the lawman's face. "Do you have any proof of that?"

"Yes, I do."

No more time to play games. Bowman accepted the challenge. "And what would that be?"

Bret answered him in a voice loud enough to be heard everywhere in the jail. "My brother can identify them."

The sheriff snorted in response. "Since when?"

Bret didn't hesitate. "Since now."

The lawman may have been a pompous ass when it came to the Mavericks, but he wasn't stupid. If word got around town that there was a witness to the attack and the sheriff ignored that evidence, it wouldn't be long before there was a new sheriff hired by the city council. So he reluctantly rose to his feet and looked Bret right in the eyes. "Let's just go see if he can."

Bret nodded his head in agreement and followed the sheriff back to the cells. He stopped in his tracks and staggered back when they rounded the corner and he saw what used to be his brother for the first time in several weeks. Rail thin, pale as a ghost and with a look of intense pain on his face, Bart Maverick stood at the cell door waiting for them. Bret was shaken to his very core. He'd seen Bart shot, stabbed, unable to breathe with pneumonia, running a fever so high it almost burned your hand to touch him, and he'd never looked this bad. His heart broken that he hadn't been around to prevent this, Bret prayed that Bart had heard his assertion to the sheriff and would play along.

Mort wasted no time. "Mr. Maverick, your brother here says you can identify the men that attacked you last summer. Is that true?"

Bret breathed a sigh of relief when Bart stated, in a clear voice, "Yes, Sheriff Bowman, that is correct. I can identify them."

Mort was momentarily taken aback. "And who was it?"

There was no hesitation in the answer. "Rusty Meyers and the Sanborn brothers."

Resigned that there was no way out of this, Mort turned to Bret. "Alright, Mr. Maverick, you've got your posse."

"Thank you, sheriff. I'd like to talk to my brother for a minute and then I'll be right along with you."

Bowman looked puzzled. "Right along with me? You're not going anywhere, Mr. Maverick. You're due in court today."

That was enough of the nonsense. Bret wasn't going to let Mort Bowman push him around anymore. "Sheriff, I'm the one that knows where they are!"

"Yes, and you can tell me and the posse. I'm the law, Mr. Maverick, not you, and you are due in court today."

Bret wanted desperately to continue arguing, but a glance at Bart's face told him not to. This shell of his brother needed him here. The sheriff and his official posse could bring in the 'Meyers Gang.'

"Alright, Sheriff Bowman, I'll come up and give you a location in a minute. I'd like to see my brother, please."

"Certainly." Mort Bowman turned and walked away, convinced that he controlled the situation. "Willis, round up a posse. We've got some outlaws to catch."

Bret focused all his attention on Bart_. 'Stay calm,'_ he told himself. _'Don't let him know how bad he looks.' _"Brother Bart, I'm sorry I was gone so long. This should be over as soon as Bowman brings Meyers and the Sanborns in." Not prone to physical displays of affection, Bret nonetheless grabbed Bart's hands through the bars. "How are you?"

Just as uneasy as Bret was, Bart pulled his hands away from his brother's grasp. "You don't have to pretend everything's fine, Bret. I must look at least as bad as I feel."

Bret tried not to lie without telling the absolute truth. "You could stand to put on some weight, Bart. What happened?"

Bart sat down on the cot and shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure," he answered reluctantly. "Doc called it a seizure. Guess I gave them a scare. I'll be fine, once I get out of here."

Bret wasn't so sure about that. "And Beau?"

"Should be here soon. Comes every morning and goes to court with me. Then comes back and stays here for a while at night."

Neither brother spoke for a full minute. Finally Bart asked "Did you really find Meyers?"

"Yes, Bart," Bret answered emphatically. "And I overheard enough to know that they're guilty of everything I accused them of. This really will be over soon."

Bart let out a long sigh. "That would be good."

The brothers heard the jail door open and footsteps. Beau turned the corner and lit up when he saw Bret.

"Bret! Does this mean you found our elusive criminals?" Beau was so happy to see his other cousin that he engulfed Bret in a bear hug. Much to his surprise, Bret hugged him back.

"Yes, it does. Bowman is rounding up a posse to go out and bring them in."

"Then this should be over today." There was a long awaited note of optimism in Beau's voice.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Cousin Beau. Maybe not today, but it should be soon."

Bret grabbed a handful of Beau's coat and walked him back out front. "What the hell happened?"

Beau looked ashamed, embarrassed and guilty all at the same time. "He stopped eating, Bret. And he had some sort of seizure three nights ago. Doc almost lost him. Jody and I spent the night here with him." Beau shook his head and cast his eyes down at the floor. "Mort was so worried he even let Doc and Jody stay in the cell. I slept in a chair. He's come back from that but I know he's in pain. He won't talk about it, won't eat, doesn't sleep as far as I can tell. Whatever's going on inside him, he keeps it to himself. Maybe now that Bowman's going out to bring in Meyers things will be different. Something's got to change. Doc doesn't know if he can survive another attack."

Bret had turned loose of Beau's coat and now he sat down heavily on the corner of Deputy Willis' desk. "Dear God, Beau, I've never seen him look that bad."

"I know. We've tried everything. He won't touch food; nothing but coffee. Everybody is worried sick. Even Jody can't get him to eat. And I can't make him talk about anything. All he says is he's 'fine.' You can tell by looking at him that he's not fine." Beau's voice got very quiet. "Bret, if something doesn't change soon I'm afraid we'll lose him. He can't go on like this."

Bret let out a big sigh of relief. "He won't have to, Beau. Soon as Mort brings in Meyers and the Sanborns this will all be over."

Beau was startled to hear Bret's declaration. "Wait – the Sanborns?"

Bret nodded. "Yeah, the two brothers, Pete and Jack. Runnin' mates of Meyers."

There was absolute anguish in Beau's next question. "Jack Sanborn? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because Jack Sanborn came into the saloon and tried to get a bartending job."

"When?"

Beau had to think. "A week or two back. Found him sitting in Georgia's office one night and had a strange feeling about him. Why would he do that? What was he after?"

The older of the cousins shook his head. "Don't know. Maybe information. He split from Meyers and Pete at one point. Maybe he was trying to break away from being an outlaw. Get a fresh start somewhere. But why here where he might be recognized?"

Beau was a step ahead of him. "No fear of that. Bart couldn't identify any of them."

Bret chuckled slightly. "Yeah, well, that's not what we told Mort this morning."

"How's that?"

"The only way I could get Bowman to round up a posse and go out after 'em. Lie."

"Doesn't surprise me. Sheriff's got a real prickly backside when it comes to doing anything for a Maverick." Beau looked right at Bret and willingly accepted his guilt in the matter. "Maybe that's because of the way we treated him."

"I guess. But he got treated that way mostly because that's the way he deserved to be treated."

This time Beau was the one to shake his head. "Doesn't matter. This might have gone down differently if we'd been a little more respectful."

"There you go again, Cousin Beau," Bret admonished him. "Sometimes you have a little too much respect for authority. Maybe that's what got you that medal in the war."

Beau's medal was a sore point for him. "I told you. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I did absolutely nothing to deserve it."

"Tell that to Pappy."

Beau knew better than to respond to Bret about his Uncle Beauregard. "You able to testify?"

"Testify to what?"

"Hiram wants us to tell the court that we never heard Bart threaten Pike."

Bret broke into a big grin. "I can do that."

"And make it sound like the truth."

"It will be the truth." He was still grinning. "When I tell it."

Deputy Willis came back through the door with half a dozen men behind him. "Sheriff, posse's ready to go."

Mort walked away from the coffee pot in the corner. "Alright, Willis, you stay here and escort the prisoner to court. We'll go get these dangerous criminals and bring them in." He turned to Bret. "Tell me where this hiding place is."

Bret stood up from the desk and followed the sheriff outside. Beau went back to Bart's cell. "Cousin Bart, if I do say so myself, things are looking up."

His cousin stood up and walked over to the cell door. He looked at the bars and shook his head. "Never saw anything so ugly in my whole life. Can't wait to get out and never see this place again." At least there was a more jovial tone in Bart's voice. Then he looked at Beau with something in his eyes that his cousin didn't recognize. Fear? "Bret didn't leave after all, did he?"

"Nope," Beau was quick to answer. "He'll be in court today."

"Good," said Bart. "Good."


	36. Chapter 36 Testimony Interruptus

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 36 – Testimony Interruptus

When court convened that morning the Mavericks were together for the first time in weeks. Bret and Beau were cleaned and dressed in their finest, to appear 'respectable' to the townspeople and Judge Kincaid. Bart looked almost skeletal but at peace, knowing that his odds for surviving this farce had increased considerably with Bret's location of the real perpetrators. Albie Grayson was not pleased to see the oldest Maverick brother in the courtroom but thought him a minor disruption at best. Once Judge Kincaid actually started the proceedings Hiram Foster was much happier than he had been early that morning. He was pleased that Bret was back in town; the morale boost that it would give his brother was undeniable. It also gave him an additional eyewitness to question.

Beau was the first witness called for the defense. He took the stand and was sworn in and Hiram began with the usual questions. Foster wasted no time getting to the day of the visit to the JP Ranch.

"Were you part of the group that rode out to the JP Ranch on the morning of August 26th?"

Beau answered quickly. "Yes, I was."

"And who rode out there with you?"

"My cousins Bret and Bart Maverick."

"And what was the purpose of the ride?"

"Just to get my cousin Bart out of the hotel and back in the saddle. He hadn't ridden a horse for months and we all thought it was time."

"You all? Does that include his doctor?"

"Yes sir, Doctor Washburn thought it would do him good to get some exercise that didn't require his walking. So he suggested horseback riding."

"Was there a destination in mind?"

"None in particular."

Hiram paused before he asked "Where did you go?"

Beau took his time in answering. He didn't want it to seem like there was only one destination, although, in fact, there was. "Actually we took the road out of town to see Silver Creek itself."

"And where did the ride take you?"

"Well, we took a wrong turn and ended up at the JP Ranch."

"The ranch owned by Edgar Pike?"

"Originally by our aunt, Jessalyn Maverick, but willed to Mr. Pike when Aunt Jessie died."

"And did you stop at the ranch?"

"We did."

"Why is that, Mr. Maverick?"

"Well, we'd been riding for quite a while and my cousin was getting tired. He hadn't had a chance to meet our 'Uncle Edgar' due to his assault and wanted to apologize for not getting out there to visit any sooner."

"And who knocked on the door?"

Beau smiled pleasantly and addressed the judge. "Like I said, we'd been riding for a while and Bart needed to stretch, so he dismounted and knocked."

"Did Mr. Pike answer the door right away?"

"Yes, almost as if he'd been watching us ride up."

"And was he pleased to see you?"

"No, sir, he didn't seem to be. When the door opened Mr. Pike had a double-barrel shotgun in his hands. Which he pointed at Bart."

"Could you hear what was being said?"

"No sir, I couldn't. Both gentlemen spoke very quietly."

"And you didn't hear any kind of threat by one party or the other?"

"No sir, as I said I couldn't hear what either man said."

"Could you see their faces?"

"Yes sir, I could."'

"Did either man look upset?"

"Upset?"

"Yes, was either man angry?"

"Bart certainly didn't appear to be. He looked quite pleasant, actually."

"And Mr. Pike?"

"As I said earlier, Mr. Pike came to the door with a shotgun in his hands. He didn't look like he would have been happy to see anyone."

"And you're sure you couldn't hear what was said?"

"No sir, I couldn't hear a word."

"What happened next?"

"Well, Cousin Bart finally turned to leave and mounted his horse. Then we rode back to town."

"Did you discuss anything on the way back to town?"

"No sir, no one spoke on the ride back."

"No one?"

"No sir, it was a beautiful day and we were enjoying the ride. We were just glad to be all together."

"And when you returned to town, what did you do?"

Beau paused a moment, as if remembering. "I took the horses back to the livery and Bret and Bart went and had lunch."

"You didn't join them?"

"No sir, I went back to the hotel and indulged in a nap."

"And when did you next see your cousin?"

"When I went down to 'The Three Mavericks' saloon later that evening. Bret and Bart were already there and Bart was playing poker."

"And did you have a conversation with your cousin about his brother's behavior earlier in the day?"

"We talked about Bart, yes."

"And what did you talk about?"

"Just general things. How well he seemed to be doing. How good it was to get out and ride again."

"That's all?"

"Yes sir, that's all."

"Switching your attention to the next morning. Didn't you and your cousin Bret have a conversation with Sheriff Mort Bowman at 'The Three Mavericks' saloon?

"Yes sir, we did."

"And didn't Sheriff Bowman at that time ask you if you had threatened Mr. Pike?"

"He did, sir. I said we had done no such thing."

"And what else did he ask you?"

"If my cousin Bart had threatened Mr. Pike."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That I wasn't close enough to hear what was said by either my cousin Bart or Edgar Pike."

"And what did Sheriff Bowman do?"

"He told us that if anything happened to Mr. Pike he was coming to arrest Bart."

"Whether he had evidence or not?"

"He didn't mention evidence."

"Now, the morning of the murder. Did you stop at your Cousin Bart's hotel room on the way to the saloon?"

"Yes sir, I stopped by to collect Bart and walk him to the saloon with me."

"And did you get a response from him when you knocked on the door?"

"No sir, I knocked and there was no answer. So I used the spare key to unlock the door."

"And what did you find?"

"I found Bart on the floor, unconscious."

"Unconscious or asleep?"

"Unconscious."

"And then?"

"I ran down the hall to my Cousin Bret's room and got him to come back to Bart's room with me. We picked Bart up off the floor and laid him on the bed. When he came to Bret pointed out he had his gun in his hand."

"And what was Mr. Bart Maverick's response?"

"He immediately said it wasn't his gun."

"Was there any other gun in the room?"

"No sir, I looked around the room and found Bart's holster and gun belt, but there was no other gun."

"And what did the room look like?"

"It was a mess. Personal possessions were all over the floor and a lamp from the table had been knocked over. And the window was open."

"The window was open?"

"Yes sir, wide open."

"Was it unusually warm that night?"

"No sir, if I remember correctly it was quite chilly."

"Does your cousin like to sleep in a cold room?"

Beau chuckled slightly. "No sir, he's the one who's always complaining about a chill in the air."

"Did you see the picture of Jessie Maverick and her kin anywhere in the room?"

"No sir, I did not."

"Were the saddlebags on the table?"

"Yes sir, they were."

"Is that where they usually were kept?"

"No sir, the last place I saw them they were in their normal spot, in Cousin Bart's closet. He's kind of fussy about everything being in place."

"So it wasn't normal for the saddle bags to be out on the table?"

"No sir, that's not where they belonged."

"And then what happened?"

'Sheriff Bowman pounded on the door and arrested Bart for Pike's murder."

"Thank you, Mr. Maverick. No more questions, Your Honor."

Albie Grayson rose from his seat. "Mr. Maverick, do you really expect us to believe that you were less than ten feet away from your cousin and Mr. Pike and you didn't hear your cousin threaten Mr. Pike with murder?"

"That's the truth, sir." Listening to Beau on the stand, no one could doubt his sincerity.

"And you didn't discuss the threat that your cousin made to Mr. Pike when you spoke to his brother later in your saloon?"

"No sir, because there was no threat."

It didn't take Grayson long to determine that this line of questioning was going to get him nowhere. If Beau Maverick was lying he was certainly an expert at it.

"And did you lie to Sheriff Bowman when he questioned you and Mr. Bret Maverick the next day at your saloon?"

"No sir, we told the sheriff the truth."

At this point Albie Grayson was frustrated by the gambler's sincerity. He knew that Beau Maverick was lying through his teeth but there was nothing he could do to shake the man's testimony. _'Cut your losses,_ _Albie,'_ he thought to himself.

"Moving on to the morning of the arrest, when you found your cousin on the floor, was he dressed?"

"Yes sir, fully dressed."

"And wasn't that unusual?"

"Not for a gambler, Mr. Grayson. Many times I've returned to my room in the small hours of the morning and gone to bed without getting undressed."

"And you say Mr. Maverick was unconscious?"

"Yes sir."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Bret and I tried to wake him and he wouldn't wake up. It was like he'd been knocked out again."

"Couldn't he have been pretending?"

"To be unconscious? After he was pistol whipped and almost beaten to death? Not even my cousin Bart is that good an actor."

The courtroom burst out laughing. Grayson was losing ground rapidly, at least with this witness. He switched gears again.

"Mr. Maverick, does your cousin have a temper?"

Beau answered without thinking. "Of course. Doesn't everyone?"

"Was he angry after the attack he suffered in his room earlier in the year?"

Beau looked at the prosecutor skeptically. "He wasn't happy about it."

"No, I mean wasn't he really angry?"

"He almost died, Mr. Grayson. I don't think even you would be happy about it."

"Who did he blame for it?"

Beau bit his lip. He'd walked right into that one. "I believe he blamed the man that beat him."

"No, Mr. Maverick. I mean who did he blame for hiring the men that almost killed him?"

Beau sat silently, trying desperately to remember if Bart had ever expressed his feeling that Edgar Pike was to blame. He had, at least once, the day he threatened Edgar. Beyond that Beau couldn't remember. But he must have, why else would Grayson ask the question?

"I don't know, Mr. Grayson."

"Didn't he blame Edgar Pike?"

"I don't know. I don't remember him ever saying that to me."

"But he may have?"

"I don't remember, Mr. Grayson."

The prosecutor finally had to admit defeat. He couldn't make headway with this Maverick, no matter what he did. So he did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped up his questions and quit. "That's all the questions I have for this witness, Your Honor."

Beau breathed a sigh of relief. He'd survived. He looked down at Bart, who wore an almost pleased expression on his face. Hiram Foster was pleased, too. Albie Grayson hadn't been able to shake Beau's testimony. Score one for the Maverick side.

Judge Kincaid was hungry and tired. He recessed the trial for lunch. The entire courtroom, with the exception of the Mavericks, Foster and Grayson, headed for food of one kind or another. 'The Three Mavericks' saloon. Grayson occupied himself with his notes for the next witness, Bret Maverick. Deputy Willis put handcuffs on Bart but allowed him to remain seated at the defense table with everyone else.

Hiram Foster was the first to speak. "Good job, Beau. You never let him rattle you."

Beau was concerned with the point that Grayson made about Bart blaming Pike. "Did you ever accuse him to anyone else?" Beau asked pointedly.

"I don't remember," Bart answered. "I really can't remember."

"Let it go, gentlemen," Hiram proclaimed. "If he has a rebuttal witness he'll call them later. For right now the judge knows that Grayson hasn't been able to prove you threatened Edgar in any way." He turned his attention to Bart. "I don't suppose I could convince you to eat something, could I?"

"You ask that question every day, Hiram, and every day the answer is the same. Coffee. Black."

Bret turned to his brother. It was the first time all morning he'd spoken. "Can't you eat anything, Bart? Something small?"

Either it was the tone of his brother's voice or the mere fact that Bret was there that made Bart reconsider. "Alright. Something small."

Hiram called Deputy Willis over. "Go get two sandwiches from 'Mavericks.' One for yourself and the other for the prisoner. And hurry, man."

Willis started to protest and the attorney stopped him. "Where is he going to go? He's handcuffed." The deputy hurried off down the street. "Gentlemen. We've a long way to go. And where is that damn sheriff?"


	37. Chapter 37 Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 37 – Sleep in Heavenly Peace

After lunch it was Bret's turn to be questioned and cross-examined. Everything went much the same as Beau's testimony had until Hiram got to the part about Bret chasing Meyers and the Sanborns.

"So what happened when you got to Jackson Flats, Mr. Maverick?"

"The sheriff there told me that Rusty Meyers and Pete Sanborn had gotten into a drunken brawl with a local and spent two nights in jail, basically until they sobered up and the local man declined to press charges. They kept up a running discussion of this upcoming trial and led the sheriff to believe they were coming back to Silver Creek when they got out. I got a fresh horse and headed back this way."

"And when did Jack Sanborn rejoin his compadres?"

"About halfway between Jackson Flats and Silver Creek itself."

"And how did you happen to come across them?"

Bret didn't enjoy the idea of letting everyone in the courtroom know he'd missed the right road, but it was necessary. "I took the wrong turn and stumbled upon them concealed in a pine grove. I heard them before they heard me and listened as they discussed their plans."

"And what were those plans, Mr. Maverick?"

"They were going to wait in the area until this trial was over. They figured they were safe because nobody was looking for them. At least that's what they thought."

"What did you do then?"

"I stayed as quiet as I could and walked my horse back out of the grove. As soon as I was far enough away I headed for the jail and Sheriff Bowman."

"And what did Sheriff Bowman do?"

"He got a posse organized and went out after them."

"And I take it they haven't yet returned?"

"No, not yet."

Hiram started to turn around and walk back to the defense table, but he stopped one last time and turned back to Bret. "Tell me, Mr. Maverick, as the person who knows Bart Maverick best in this world, do you believe him to be capable of cold-blooded murder?"

There was no hesitation in Bret's answer or his voice. "No sir, I do not. Bart Maverick is NOT capable of cold-blooded murder."

"Thank you. That's all the questions I have at this time, Your Honor."

Albie Grayson rose from his seat slowly. He'd already been burned by Beau Maverick; he was more than wary of taking on Bret Maverick. Nevertheless, he began his questioning.

"Mr. Maverick, do you have any proof that the Meyers gang, as you call them, are anything more than outlaws in this territory, petty criminals that have become easy to blame for all the problems plaguing your brother?"

"Other than Marshal Cole's affidavit and my overhearing their plans?"

"Any physical proof of their deeds or intentions, yes?"

Bret was not pleased with the answer he was forced to give. "No, I do not."

"And as of right now, for all we know, you may have sent Sheriff Bowman out on a wild goose chase, correct?"

"NO!"

"Has the sheriff or his posse returned yet?"

"No."

"No further questions, Your Honor."

"You may step down, Mr. Maverick."

Bret was troubled by the way Grayson had phrased his questions but it was over now and there was nothing he could do. Since it was late in the afternoon and Hiram's last witness was to be the defendant, Judge Kincaid recessed court for the day. Deputy Willis wasted no time putting the handcuffs back on Bart and hustling him out the courtroom door. Bret turned to Foster and complained about the prosecutor's tactics.

"It was all designed to make the judge doubt you, son. That's what he's supposed to do." Hiram was as conciliatory as he could be.

"I know," Bret shook his head resignedly, "but it made me sound like I'd sent Mort out to chase his tail. What good would that do?"

"Well, it would appear you were doing anything you could to convince the judge there was an actual murderer out there to track down," Hiram stated matter-of-factly.

"But there is!"

"I know that and you know that, but the judge doesn't know that, son. Albie Grayson truly believes that Bart killed Edgar. Let's just hope the judge doesn't believe it too."

The two Mavericks and the attorney got up and left the courthouse. Georgia was waiting for them outside. "How did it go today?"

Beau was pleased; Bret disgruntled; Hiram was hopeful. Georgia took Beau's arm and said "I think Bart would be happy with two out of three."

"Did Jody come with you?" Beau asked his ladylove.

"Yes," her mother replied. "She went back to the jail with Deputy Willis and Bart."

Bret asked the most important question. "How did Bart look?"

"Encouraged. Like maybe things had changed a little and were going his way. I'm sure he knows that it all rests on his shoulders tomorrow." Georgia tried to sound hopeful.

"Unless Mort and the posse find Meyers tonight." Bret still sounded disgruntled.

Beau knew how worried Bret was; he tried to be more positive. "They have to, Bret. Even if the judge finds Bart not guilty things still won't be right until Meyers and the Sanborns are in jail."

Bret snorted in disgust. "You know how hard I expect Mort Bowman to look for the men that killed Pike? I think he'd like to come back without them just so he could shrug his shoulders and say 'I tried. I knew Maverick was guilty all along.'"

"Enough of this," the attorney interrupted. "Let's get down to the jail. We've got a friend to support."

XXXXXXXX

Bart slept that night, glad to finally have arrived at the end of this travesty. One way or another it would all be over tomorrow. If Mort Bowman and the posse were successful Bart would be freed from jail. And if they weren't, the odds appeared to have swung in his favor. The judge was sympathetic and reflective, always listening to the testimony given and seeming to catch all the nuances that Hiram inserted into his questions.

He was more than ready for everything to be finished. This had dragged on far too long and he was so very tired. It was hard work, sitting in the jail cell day after day with no break, no respite, first from the worry over the actual execution of the crime, and then from the never abating terror that he would be found guilty of something he hadn't done. And hanged. There was the ever present threat of hanging, a fate that Bart Maverick was more than willing to forego. He'd thought about dying before, but never hanging, and the prospect of ending his life swinging at the end of a rope was not his death of choice. Better to die peacefully in his sleep when he was old and gray, hopefully a long time from now.

What would be was out of his hands. His brother and cousin had done everything they possibly could to exonerate him, even before they were completely certain that he was innocent. So too had Jody, his little sister, the one he was sure Belle Maverick would have given him if she'd stayed with them rather than leaving so abruptly. Hiram Foster never doubted his innocence and had become a trusted friend, almost closer than Anderson Garrett, who continued to write to him and encouraged him to believe in the truth. And then there was Georgia, whom he trusted enough to tell the story of the heartbreak and loss he felt when Caroline Crawford Maverick was killed and died in his arms. She, perhaps more than anyone, understood the vulnerable part of him that he kept private from the rest of the world, even Bret. He could not have endured the last six months of his life if it weren't for the friends and relatives who surrounded him.

So at last he slept peacefully, willing to face whatever the next day was going to bring.


	38. Chapter 38 Good Intentions

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 38 – Good Intentions

Bart was actually happy to see Harry with biscuits, eggs and coffee just as the sun burst up over the horizon. He was more than ready to get this day started, hoping and praying for a good resolution. Jody followed soon after and she was pleased as could be to see him eating and not just drinking coffee. She sat with him while he finished and waited until he was ready to talk.

"Big day today," Jody stated unnecessarily. "One way or another."

"Yes," came his terse reply. Then he softened. This was Jody, and no matter how tense or on edge his nerves were, she deserved better. "What's going on out at school?" The change of subject was meant to signal that he didn't want to talk about the day ahead of him, good or bad. Jody was a 'teacher in training' at the Silver Creek schoolhouse and spent hours telling Bart about her charges. He seemed to be the only one interested enough to actually listen to her stories. It kept him from worrying about the possibilities of his own life.

"We're learning spelling," she offered. It forced a laugh from him; spelling was one of his better endeavors. Bret not so much. If it wasn't spelled 'A-C-E' or 'full house' Bret wasn't really interested in it. Once Momma died the only thing his older brother wanted was to get out into the gambling halls. Bart had been more willing to bide his time and learn as much about everything as he could.

"Anybody good at it?" Not that he was really mesmerized by her winsome tales, but he was fascinated by the charming way she talked about the children. He could just imagine her with a large family of her own, little ones following momma everywhere and marveling at how beautiful she was.

"Well, there is one little boy named Adam that kind of reminds me of you." She smiled as she thought of the small boy who was so shy he had to hide behind his older sister during the spelling contests. There was something about his manners and grace that made her think of Bart whenever she saw him.

Bart laughed voluntarily at that one; poor kid. "He doesn't have an older brother riding herd on his every move, does he?"

Jody stopped and wondered about the question. Is that what it was like for Bart growing up with Bret as his brother? Did he wish he'd been the oldest? Or an only child? _'Too much guessing here, Jody,'_ her brain reminded her._ 'Not enough facts.' _She turned the question back on him. "Did you?"

He answered her quickly. "Sometimes."

This was one of the few times he'd said anything about his boyhood and she hoped to get him to talk more to her. She really wanted to know what it was like growing up as something other than an only child. Thus far in their relationship he'd been very reticent about sharing his life before Silver Creek with her, and from the next statement he made it appeared it was going to stay that way for now. "Shouldn't you be leaving for school soon?"

"Bartley Maverick, are you trying to get rid of me?" Indignance in her voice.

"Yes ma'am," he answered. "Cousin Beau should be here soon and I have something to talk to him about."

"Then I shall not take offense at your appalling lack of manners," she giggled. As was her habit, she placed a kiss on her first two fingers and placed the fingers on his cheek. It was the best she could do with the bars between them.

She gave a little wave and left. Less than five minutes later Beau came around the short corner. He was dressed down today, clean but more 'cattle rancher' than 'gambler.' Bart wondered about the change and Beau noticed the looking over that Bart gave him. "Just in case," Beau said by way of explanation.

"In case of what?" Bart asked innocently. "A possum in the courtroom?"

"In case I'm needed for something," Beau answered. He and Bret had discussed everything last night and neither trusted the sheriff and his so-called posse. They were both going to be ready to leave on a moment's notice if Mort came back without any prisoners.

Just like that Bret strode into the cell are, dressed much the same as Beau. "Good Lord, we're havin' a possum roundup!" Bart exclaimed.

Bret was thoroughly confused. "Huh? Possums? What?"

Beau patted his cousin's arm. "It's okay, Cousin Bret, I'll explain it all to you later."

"Are you two boys here for a social visit?"

Bret and Beau exchanged looks and Bret answered. "We don't trust Mort. Nobody has seen or heard from the posse since yesterday and they've been gone too long. If they aren't back by lunch recess today Beau and I are going out after Meyers ourselves."

Bart looked troubled at the declaration. "Don't. Please."

"Why?" they asked in unison.

Were they really going to make him say it? "Because today is my day on the stand and I'd rather have both of you here."

"Oh." Bret.

"Uh-huh." Beau.

"I think that's a splendid idea, gentlemen." Hiram Foster had entered the room. You both should be there to lend support. Whatever you were going to do will wait."

"We're going out after Meyers and the Sanborns if Mort doesn't bring 'em back," Bret said bluntly. "But we can wait and be here for Bart."

Hiram turned to Bret and Beau. "I need you to leave now, gentlemen. I must go over a few things with Bart before we get started today."

"We'll be there, Cousin Bart," Beau told him before walking back around the corner. Bret reached through the bars and slapped Bart on the arm. He felt so thin! "See you later, Brother Bart." Then Bret was gone, too.

Hiram raised his voice. "Alright, Deputy Willis. You can come unlock the cell for me now."

XXXXXXXX

Right before ten o'clock Willis and Bart entered the courthouse. The Mavericks were there, along with the usual spectators, the attorneys and the judge. Court was called to order and then Judge Kincaid spoke.

"Mr. Foster, you may call your next witness," the judge intoned.

"I call Mr. Bart Maverick to the stand, your honor." This from Hiram Foster.

Bart rose from his seat and made his way over to the witness stand. He looked thin and tired, in character for all the circumstances that had befallen him in the last year. After he was sworn in Hiram started his questioning, life and death potentially riding on Bart's answers. Routine at first, the attorney began with the arrival in Silver Creek and proceeded on through Edgar Pike's lawsuit. Finally Hiram got to the night of the beating.

"And when someone knocked at your door, Mr. Maverick, why did you answer it?"

"I was expecting the desk clerk to tell me my bath water was ready."

"And who was at the door instead of the desk clerk?" Hiram knew he was getting into areas that would be excruciating to remember.

"Three men I'd never seen before."

"What did they want?"

"Well, considering they had their guns pointed at me and bandanas over their faces, I didn't think they were there to play whist." Bart said it so matter-of-factly that there was a ripple of laughter in the courtroom.

"Now Mr. Maverick, tell us what you remember of what happened next."

Bart frowned at the prospect of telling the painful story. His head began to pound and his throat was scratchy and dry, but he pushed on. "They forced me back into my room. I was unarmed and at their mercy. I knew what was coming, so I made a remark that I hoped would prevent it. It didn't. The oldest one said something about my not paying attention and owning the saloon. I don't remember his exact words. He hit me with the butt of his pistol and the other two grabbed my arms and forced me to stand still."

"And then? Please go on, Mr. Maverick."

Bart grimaced and tried to keep his heart from pounding. It was almost like being beaten all over again. In a very quiet voice he explained, "I was pistol whipped."

"For how long, Mr. Maverick?"

"Until I blacked out."

"Until you were unconscious, is that correct?"

"Yes." Hiram could see Bart tensing up with the strain of remembering. Nevertheless he was forced to press on.

"And what is the next thing you remember?"

Bart and Hiram had discussed this for long hours. What he remembered and what he was willing to admit he remembered were two entirely different things.

"I opened my eyes. Nothing would focus. The sights, the sounds were all blurry and I couldn't get anything to clear up. I tried to move my head but I couldn't. Then I passed out again."

"And how long were you like this?"

Bart let out a sigh and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm not sure."

"Didn't your brother tell you it was two or three days?"

"Yes, he did, but I'm not sure."

"How long did it take you to recover?"

Bart laughed slightly, a sick and pathetic laugh. "Still workin' on it, Mr. Foster."

Again a ripple of laughter through the courtroom.

"And who did you suspect was behind the attack, Mr. Maverick?"

Albie Grayson rose to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. That calls for speculation on the part of the witness."

"Sustained. Mr. Foster, rephrase your question."

"Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Maverick, did you have any proof regarding the instigator of the attack?"

Bart looked at his brother, then his cousin. Both had grim expressions on their faces. It was difficult for them to hear this testimony, forced to listen to Bart's recollections of the beating that almost killed him.

"Proof? Do I have physical proof?"

"Yes Mr. Maverick, that was the question."

"No, I don't."

"The perpetrators never mentioned who hired them?"

"No."

"Turning your attention to the day you and your relatives rode out to Edgar Pike's ranch."

"We didn't ride out there, we ended up there."

"It wasn't your original intention to ride out to Edgar Pike's?"

Bart kept his poker face firmly affixed. "No."

"Very well, the day you ended up at the JP ranch. Hadn't you been on a horse for quite a while when you ended up there?"

"Yes, I had. And I was plum worn out. So I suggested that we stop and visit with Mr. Pike for a while."

"Visit with him?"

"Yes, sir, I really hadn't gotten an opportunity to meet Uncle Edgar before all this happened, so I wanted to introduce myself and apologize for taking so long to get out there."

"I see. And is that why it was you that dismounted and knocked on the front door?"

"That was my main reason, yes. I'd been sitting a horse for the first time in months, and I was tired. I needed to put my feet on the ground for a while. What better place to do it?"

"And did Mr. Pike answer the door?"

"Yes he did. With a shotgun in his hands, pointed right at me."

"Had you given him any reason to point a shotgun at you?"

"None that I knew of."

"What did you say to him?"

"I introduced myself and explained why I hadn't come sooner. I tried to talk to him about the lawsuit he'd filed against us but Uncle Edgar wasn't very friendly."

"Anything else?"

"No, that's about all. When I realized that Edgar wasn't going to talk to me I mounted my horse and we left."

"Did you threaten to kill him?"

"Me? Threaten him?" Bart's voice was incredulous. "Anybody that knows me knows I don't agree with violence. Especially murder." He hadn't actually lied, he just avoided answering the question. So far, so good.

"Did you pay a visit to Doctor Washburn the next day?"

"I did."

"Please tell us why." Hiram was matter-of-fact about everything.

"We'd been riding, then lunch out with Bret and a trip back to the saloon, to play poker. I'd had an incident the night before, when I woke up in the morning and couldn't remember going to bed or getting back up. I wanted to know what was going on, so I went to see the doctor. He looked me over and didn't have any answers for me."

"Explain what you mean by that."

"He couldn't tell me what happened or why." Seemed pretty plain to Bart what the doctor had meant.

"Did it happen again?"

"Not exactly, but something similar. I didn't feel well when I saw Doc Washburn and was going back to my hotel room to rest. I ran into my brother Bret in the hotel lobby and went in to breakfast with him. We sat for a few minutes; he ate breakfast. We were talking about saloon business and he said something using a phrase I'd heard the night of the beating. Next thing I remember, Bret's got me upstairs in my room and on the bed."

"And do you remember what he said?"

"Funny boy. He called me funny boy."

"And that caused your attack?"

"It wasn't an attack. I just wasn't well that morning and instead of eating food I'd had quite a bit of coffee. I just passed out."

"Did you recover?"

"Of course. I'm here, aren't I?" Small titter of laughter in the back of the courtroom.

"Now to the night of the murder. Tell us what you remember about that night."

"Not much. I spent the evening at the saloon. Bret walked with me back to the hotel and then remembered something he wanted done at 'The Three Mavericks' so he returned. I changed into my night shirt and went to bed. The next thing I knew Bret was shaking me awake."

"And were you still in bed?"

"Kind of. Bret and Beau found me on the floor of my hotel room and moved me to the bed."

"And were you still in night clothes?"

"No, I was fully dressed."

"Was that all?"

Bart was very still for a moment and then answered quietly. "No. I had a gun in my hand."

"Your gun?"

"No sir, not my gun."

"How do you know it wasn't your gun?"

"Because my gun has a very unique black diamond pattern on the grip. I won it in a poker game in Santa Fe several years ago. This gun had no diamond pattern and a lightning bolt sort of carved into the wood on the bottom."

"Where did it come from?"

"I don't know."

"Where was your gun?"

"I don't know."

"Did you kill Edgar Pike?"

There was a long pause before Bart answered the question. "No."


	39. Chapter 39 All Through the Night

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 39 – All Through the Night

Lunch recess was over and there was still no sign of Mort Bowman and the posse. Bret and Beau were champing at the bit to leave town and search for the outlaws themselves but they'd made Bart a promise and they were going to stick to it. The next part of the trial would be excruciating; it was the prosecutions turn to try and shake Bart's testimony.

Bart sat very still in the chair on the witness stand and watched Albie Grayson carefully. This was a poker game of sorts; the outcome depended on whether Bart was dealt a good hand or ended up having to bluff his way out of it. Whichever way it went, he needed to be the victor.

Grayson was sly; he started with routine questions and worked his way forward, trying to make Bart comfortable so he would slip up at a crucial juncture. The gambler was on his toes mentally but the emotional burden of reliving the nightmare of his beating and the long, arduous aftermath had taken a toll on him physically. His head was still throbbing and his mouth was dry; his back ached from time spent sitting stationary in the straight backed chair, and he desperately wanted a cigar to help steady his nerves.

"Tell the court, Mr. Maverick, why you suspected that Edgar Pike was behind the random beating you suffered on April fourth of last year."

"I didn't suspect he was behind it, I suspected he paid for it."

"And why is that?"

"Because when Aunt Jessie died she left the saloon to my brother and me and our cousin Beau. Edgar stated publicly on several occasions and in front of various witnesses that the saloon should be his and we would under no circumstances run it. He'd filed a lawsuit against us, contesting Jessalyn Maverick's will. My Brother Bret went out to talk to him about the saloon and the lawsuit and Edgar stated in no uncertain terms that the saloon would never belong to the Mavericks." Bart had to stop and catch his breath. He was surprised that Grayson had let him go on so long without interruption.

"Is that all, Mr. Maverick?"

"No. One more thing. When my uninvited guests came to see me, one of the things they told me was that I didn't own the saloon. Pretty odd thing for a casual stranger to say, unless that stranger was paid to kill someone by the only person in town who believed the sentiment."

"I see." Grayson turned his back on the witness and walked back to the prosecutor's table. "So do you have any actual proof of Edgar Pike's responsibility? Or is this all just speculation on your part?"

Ah, the dealer raises the bet. "No, I have no actual proof."

"You sound fairly certain that Edgar Pike paid to have you killed. And yet you would have this court believe that you held no personal animosity towards Mr. Pike for this act?'

"I didn't say I had no animosity towards Mr. Pike, I said I didn't agree with violence."

"Ah, so you did have animosity towards Mr. Pike?"

Grayson was trying to twist his meaning. "In a fashion."

"And yet the day you and your relatives went riding you simply stopped at Pike's ranch to introduce yourself and 'visit.'"

Bart fiddled for a moment with his pinky ring. "Yes."

"And you didn't threaten Mr. Pike in any way?"

"I simply promised him that we'd win the lawsuit he'd filed against us." Why wouldn't the pounding in his head stop? He needed something to drink. And he started to sweat.

"Then how did it get all over town that you'd threatened to murder him?"

"I have no idea."

"The night that Edgar Pike died. You walked back to your hotel with your brother and he left you there?"

"Yes."

"And you changed clothes and went to bed?"

"Yes."

"Then how do you explain what your brother and cousin found the next morning?"

What? What did he mean? Bart fully dressed? The gun? The blood? The mess in the room? Him on the floor? WHAT?

"Which part?"

"All of it. You fully dressed and on the floor, seemingly asleep or passed out. The gun in your hands with blood on both it and you. The wide open window. The picture of Jessalyn Maverick that had stood on Edgar Pike's mantel for years hidden under your saddlebags. How do you explain that, Mr. Maverick?"

"I don't know, Mr. Grayson. I don't know how to explain it." Dear God, not now! His head was swimming and his whole body was soaking wet. By sheer force of will he sat on the witness stand still as a statue. He had to concentrate on what Grayson was saying.

"Let me paint a more accurate scenario for you, Mr. Maverick. You blame Edgar Pike for your near death. You harbor a grudge and hatred for months. You have periodic blackouts that the doctor can't explain. One night, during one of these so-called blackouts, you get dressed, leave your room via the window and second floor balcony, ride out to Edgar Pike's house, pistol whip him and kill him. You steal the photograph of your Maverick family and return to town, re-entering the hotel the way you exited. You crash into the room and hide the photo, trashing the personal belongings on the table and collapsing on the floor. You and you alone killed Edgar Pike and you don't remember it because you don't want to. Isn't that what actually happened, Mr. Maverick?"

'_NO! NO!'_ His head screamed out the word but his mouth wouldn't say it. Stay cool, Bart! Now was no time to throw everything away. Just calmly look at the prosecutor and say 'No.'

And just at that moment the courthouse door was flung open and Sheriff Mort Bowman walked in empty handed.

XXXXXXXX

Everyone in the courtroom held their breath. Time stopped for all three of the Mavericks as long as the sheriff stood in the doorway without saying anything. Very slowly it seemed, Mort walked into the courthouse. The judge banged his gavel on the desk as a murmur ran through the spectators.

"What's the meaning of this intrusion, sheriff?" Judge Kincaid demanded.

Mort looked dirty, tired and cold. "I'm sorry, Your Honor, but I thought the court should know immediately."

"Know what, Sheriff Bowman?"

"That the posse wasn't able to find any trace of Rusty Meyers, Pete or Jack Sanborn, or anyone else out in the God-forsaken wilderness that we were sent out into. If they ever existed they're not there now."

Before Beau or Bret could jump to their feet and call the sheriff a liar, Bart lurched up from the chair he occupied on the witness stand. He swayed on his feet for a moment and reached out his left hand as if to grab the sheriff, who was twenty feet away from him. Then he clutched at his head, gave a loud gasp and dropped to the floor. Bret was up and had his brother in his arms in seconds. He searched desperately for a pulse as Beau's words rang in his ears _– 'Doc doesn't know if he can survive another attack_.' For a moment he couldn't find anything and he feared Doc's prediction had come true. Then, at last, a very faint heartbeat; barely there, but beating.

Without a thought Bret picked Bart up like a rag doll and carried him out into the street and over to Doc Washburn's office. The door was closed and Bret had no time to stop and open it – he kicked it in. Doc came running out of the back room ready to give holy hell to someone until he saw what Bret carried in his arms – the almost lifeless body of his brother. "Bring him in here, son," was the only direction he gave. They went into Doc's inner office and Bret gently laid Bart down on the exam table. He was soaked with sweat but his skin was cold and clammy to the touch. All the way across the street Bret had listened carefully for his brothers' breathing – and hadn't been able to hear any. Now there was barely any rise and fall to Bart's chest and he was almost as white as Doc's hair. "Let's put him on his side - he'll breathe easier." Bret rolled Bart onto his side, then untied his tie and opened the collar of his shirt. When he realized that Beau was at his elbow he tuned to their cousin and said, "Help me get his coat off." They did and Beau threw it over a chair.

"I need you two to leave," Doc told them, to which Bret replied simply "No." They could hear people gathering in the outer office and Beau glanced in that direction. Sheriff Bowman, Deputy Willis and Hiram Foster all stood there anxiously, the sheriff and deputy in mortal fear of an escape attempt and Hiram just as fearful of death. Even the judge and the prosecutor stood outside the office in the street, waiting to see if there would be any reason to continue the trial or not. Beau finally reached over and closed the door to everyone.

Doc worked frantically, trying everything he knew to help Bart breathe. He directed Beau to hold a cold, wet towel to Bart's head and neck, trying to stop the sweating and the fever raging inside his body. He unlocked the cabinet and pulled the bottle of laudanum out again, hoping it would work a second time. Bret held Bart's head as Doc tried to pour some of the medicine down his throat. After a second or two Bart coughed and gagged, finally swallowing enough for Doc to be temporarily satisfied. Long minutes went past while all three men waited and watched, two of them praying as hard as they could and the third hoping that prayers would be enough.

Just when Doc started wondering if Bart would be lucky once again the chills started. Within seconds Bart was trembling so violently that Doctor Washburn piled every blanket he had on the man. The longer this kept up the more Doc feared permanent damage of some kind. It was probably too early but the doctor had Bret help him with another dose of the only medicine that appeared to do any good. This time they got the laudanum down more successfully and Bart seemed to respond slowly. It took almost an hour but the trembling stopped and his breathing eased. Doc finally dropped into a chair and let out a sigh big enough for all three of them.

There was some kind of commotion in the front office and Beau opened the door he'd slammed shut to find Bowman holding a flailing and kicking Jody back from entering the room where Bart lay. Finally his fingers slipped slightly and Jody bit him on the hand. Mort yelled and let go his grip on Jody, who immediately ran into Beau's arms. "You little spitfire," he yelled at the young woman as she clung to Beau and sobbed. There was a large angry bite mark on Mort's hand and he was mad as hell. "I'll throw your female hide in jail for assaulting a peace officer!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Beau held Jody close to him protectively. "No," he insisted. "You won't." He ushered her into the inner office and closed the door behind her. Then he turned angrily back to the sheriff. "You will leave that young lady alone and keep your hands off of her. She's part of our family now and you've done enough damage to the Mavericks. And if you think this is over you're mistaken. If my cousin lives through this his brother and I shall find the outlaws you let slip through your fingers and bring them back to stand trial for murder. And I will personally see to it that you are never sheriff again. Even if I have to take the job myself!"

Beau turned on his heel and walked back into the room he'd come from. He slammed the door behind him and heard Jody softly crooning a lullaby. She'd pulled a chair over to the exam table where Bart lay and once again brushed the hair off his face, then started singing the song. It was the only lullaby she knew:

Sleep my child and peace attend thee, All through the night

Guardian angels God will send thee, All through the night

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, Hill and dale in slumber sleeping

I my loved ones' watch am keeping, All through the night.

It was a beautiful old Welsh lyric and remarkably comforting. Jody learned it from little Adam and his sister Beatrice and it was the closest she could come to a prayer. There were more verses but Jody only remembered this one, so she hummed the tune after she sang the first verse. Beau knew that Bart certainly needed guardian angels now, this night, if there were such things. He and Bret watched Jody sit with their brother, their cousin, their kin until it was dark outside. By that time everyone had gone away but poor Deputy Willis, who was left by the humiliated sheriff to "make sure the prisoner doesn't escape." Willis was so unconcerned about that happening that he'd gone to sleep in a chair in Doc Washburn's front office.

Once again Georgia was Beau and Bret's angel, bringing food and coffee to them, Doc and Jody. She tried to comfort them as best she could but knew in her heart there was only one thing that would help, and he hadn't opened his eyes. Her daughter refused to move from Bart's side, insisting that she was going to be the first one he saw when he did regain consciousness. If he regained consciousness. At midnight when Georgia came back again to check on them Doc was asleep at his desk, Bret and Beau were reminiscing about growing up in Texas and Jody had fallen asleep in her chair, her head resting peacefully next to Bart's. She didn't want to interrupt the two Mavericks but knew she must.

"Harry is closing up as we speak. Alvin will open tomorrow but Lettie is coming in early to cook breakfast. I'll be here with food and coffee first thing in the morning. Is there anything you need before I go home?"

"Blankets, cards and some cigars," Bret suggested.

"I concur. I shall walk you down to Harry at the saloon and then stop back by the hotel." He turned to Bret before leaving. "Anything else?"

"No, that's all. Unless you've got a miracle in your pocket somewhere," the oldest Maverick answered.

Beau looked downcast a he shook his head. "I'm afraid the miracles are between Bart and God tonight." He took Georgia by the arm and walked her to the office door, then turned back to Bret. "I'll just be a few minutes. You know where I am if you need me."

Bret nodded and stood as Beau and Georgia left the room. They walked out through Doc's outer office and down the sidewalk, arriving at the saloon doors, which Harry had already closed. "Georgia, I . . . . that was as far as Beau got before they kissed, long and tenderly. "I love you."

"I know, Beauregard," she answered. She didn't say it back.

"When this is all settled and done there's something very important I need to ask you. Will that be alright with you?"

She sighed and felt his arms around her. They felt good, and right, like they belonged there. But not right now. He needed to get back to Bart and Bret. And her daughter, sleeping so peacefully. She pulled away from him and said "Yes. Go on back now. I'll see you in the morning." She opened the doors and stepped inside.

He watched her disappear inside the saloon and breathed out deeply. He'd found his woman. He hoped it wouldn't be at the expense of his best friend.


	40. Chapter 40 Ride Like the Wind

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 40 – Ride Like the Wind

Another long night with no sleep. How can you be expected to sleep when your best friend lay dying? Both the Mavericks had this same thought. As did Jody, who was up and down all night. When dawn broke on another day the slimmest of threads still held Bart Maverick on the right side of life, as three of the people he cared most about in the world kept vigil and prayed.

Bret knew there was something he had to do. Pappy had been left oblivious in Texas while his youngest son fought for his life in Montana. While they had all laughed at one time or another about not sending bad news in a telegram it looked for all the world like it was time to break the rule. Bret steeled himself to send the one message he'd never wanted to send.

Even at this early hour the telegraph office was open. It was almost painful to write out the short message, and Bret argued with himself a long time before sending it. Finally he handed the form over to Sammy and waited for the confirmation that it was on the way.

Bart in bad shape.

Get here in a hurry.

This is not a joke.

Bret

He walked back slowly to Doc Washburn's and stopped outside the door to light a cigar. Why were they even here? If Pappy hadn't called them all home last year he and Bart and Beau would be off somewhere playing cards and chasing money and women. Instead they were in Montana in Silver Creek, in the middle of nowhere, tending to a nightmare that an unknown aunt had sent their way. So that a miserable little man they'd never met before could try to kill his brother. Why hadn't Bart stayed at the saloon that night? Why did Pike want so badly to hurt a Maverick? And why Bart? Was it because of his resemblance to Jessie? Or was he just in the wrong place at the right time? Why hadn't it been him or Beau? Momma had made him promise to take care of his brother, and he'd failed miserably at the task. _'What a good protector you were, Bret Maverick. Where's your brother now?' _

His guilt-ridden thoughts were interrupted by Georgia's approach. There was a truly decent person, something that Bret believed from their first meeting. And Beau had claimed her for his own. Right under their very noses. Bret tipped his hat and opened the door for her. She carried a tray with a coffee pot, cups, and eggs with some kind of breakfast biscuit. Bret couldn't help smiling a bit; Georgia was determined they were going to eat whether they wanted to or not. When she was through the first door he hurried ahead to open the door to the inner office for her. Beau jumped to his feet, taking the tray from Georgia and setting it on a cabinet. Jody was awake and talking again in that quiet, soothing tone of voice to her 'brother', praying that somewhere inside he could hear her. Doc Washburn had gone out to the Sadler ranch to deliver a baby and left instructions for Jody to follow about the laudanum and Bart's on-again, off-again fever.

"Any change?" Georgia whispered to Beau as she poured coffee.

"None to speak of," he answered. "Just like the last time. Only this one's got to be worse. Wherever he is in there he knows that Bowman didn't find Rusty Meyers. If it was me instead of him I'd probably have given up a long time ago. At least Bart's still fighting."

Georgia handed him a cup and brushed his fingers as he took it from her. His touch was like ice. She pulled back, startled, and looked into his eyes. There was pain and bewilderment, anger, and fear, and something new – hatred. She turned away quickly, not willing to see the new emotion. She went next to Jody, who looked up and smiled at her but never quit the story she was telling Bart. Georgia listened to her relate the tale of the five frogs of Fergus County and marveled at Jody's love and loyalty. She poured coffee and set it down next to the young woman and prayed that her determination would not be in vain.

Bret had returned to the room and reached willingly for a cup of the hot, black liquid. She wondered where he'd been this morning so early and it was almost as if he heard her unspoken question. "Sent a telegram to Pappy," he explained. "Thought I better."

She nodded in understanding and agreement. If Bart were her son she would want to know. Especially if things didn't go well_. 'Don't think that way, Georgia,_' she told herself. _'He has to wake up.' _She hated to consider what it would do to Jody if the second man she'd ever loved in her life died, too.

She then set about her hardest task of the day – trying to get each of them to eat. Bret took one look at the food and turned away. No wonder Bart had stopped eating – he was just like his brother in that regard. Jody took some eggs and promised to eat. Beau had no intention of eating – until he smelled the biscuits. Then his stomach won out over his heart. "Alright," he told her, "stop trying to feed us."

Doc Washburn returned mid-morning and announced that the Sadler's were the proud parents of a new baby girl. They'd named her Catherine Louise and were thrilled with her arrival. Bret looked questioningly at the body of his brother, still barely breathing, that lay on the exam table where he'd been laid down yesterday and wondered – a new life in the world to take the place of a departing life? If that was true, did it have to be Bart?

About an hour later Mort Bowman came in the front door, followed closely by Deputy Willis. Sometime during the night Willis had given up and gone home, sure that there would be no escaping that night. The door to the inner exam room had been left open by Doc when he returned from the Sadler's. Bowman assumed he was welcome and walked in to a hoard of angry Mavericks. This time he was forced to deal with Bret, who blocked his entrance any further into the room.

"What do you want, Sheriff?" The tone of Bret's question was decidedly unfriendly.

"Well, I just wanted to see how the prisoner was doing," Bowman explained.

Bret stared at the imbecile who had helped put his brother in this position. "He's only a prisoner because you arrested the wrong man. And his name is Bart. Bart Maverick. Mr. Maverick to you."

The sheriff took a step back when confronted by Bret's venom. "No need to get hostile with me, young man. I was just doing my job."

Bret stood as tall as he could and put his right hand on his gun. "Just what is your job, Sheriff? Arresting innocent men? Terrorizing women? It sure isn't capturing wanted criminals, far as I can see. Do you torture puppies in your spare time? Just what is your job?"

Mort Bowman back peddled further. "See here . . . I just . . . . how dare you . . . . "

Bret's right hand remained on his gun. Beau walked up behind him and stood with him. "Get out of here, Sheriff. You're not welcome here."

Mort Bowman walked backwards out of Doc's offices, not wanting to turn his back on Bret and Beau. "I'll be back as soon as I talk to Judge Kincaid," he shouted at them and hurried back to the jail.

Jody crept up behind Beau and asked, "What's all the shouting about? What's going on?"

"Just puttin' out the trash," was his only answer. Even Bret snickered at that.

XXXXXXXX

It was early afternoon before they had another visitor, this time the Judge himself. There was no change in Bart; his breathing was still ragged and he alternated between freezing cold and scalding hot. Beau had gone back to the hotel and procured a cot and blankets and he and Bret carefully moved Bart from the exam table to the makeshift bed. Doc, with Bret or Beau's help, kept giving him laudanum every few hours as well as the aspirin regimen he'd tried when Bart was beaten. Whether it was doing any good was questionable; there'd been no change since the original collapse in court. Doc couldn't determine if Bart was unconscious or asleep, but at least they were able to get medicine in him on a regular basis.

Judge Kincaid was polite and well-mannered enough to knock rather than just barge in to the doctor's offices. Jody answered the door and ushered the Judge in, bringing him all the way to the inner office. He conferred for a few minutes with Doc Washburn and then motioned Bret over. "Mr. Maverick, I need to return to the county seat for a few days to handle another trial. I'm going to postpone the rest of this one for approximately a week to give your brother time to recover. If he is able to continue at that time we will proceed. If not I will make a decision about further postponement. Either way I will be back. I wish you and your family luck."

"Thank you, Judge." Bret was fortunate that Kincaid had chosen to communicate his plans in person rather than sending the sheriff over. After the earlier 'visit' neither man was in the mood to encounter the other.

Late that afternoon Sammy came running down to Doc's office with a reply from Pappy.

How's my boy?

Pappy

Just like Pappy to send a three word telegram. How was Bret supposed to answer that? What do you tell a man when his son might be dying? Bret sent a message back with Sammy.

Hanging on.

Pray.

Bret

Once Pappy's answer was on the way Bret found Beau standing on the back porch of Doc's office watching the sun set. Beau had the wistful look in his eyes that Bret saw whenever he thought about his mother; he was so young when she died that he really had no memory of her. Bret wondered what was on his mind to cause such reflection; he didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Ever wonder where we'd be if we weren't gamblers?" There was a question that hadn't been asked before.

"Nope." That was the only answer Bret had for his cousin. The thought had never crossed his mind. Pappy taught him to play when he was about three years old and he'd never looked back. As soon as Bart was old enough to hold the cards in his tiny little hands he'd played too. And Beau was always right there with them. The thought of working for a living was unappealing to them, all of them, though they were all capable of many different jobs. And very often had to take one of those when the cards ran bad.

But spend his life doing something else? No, thank you. That kind of life wasn't for him. The time they'd spent in Silver Creek had been fun and exciting, heartbreaking and painful. His biggest desire at this exact moment was to get on his horse and ride. Anywhere there was money and women, his brother and his cousin. As far away from Montana as that horse would carry him. Now.


	41. Chapter 41 Winter's Comin'

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 41 – Winter's Comin'

Day turned back into night and still they waited. Jody went home and changed clothes, ready to go when needed. If they lost Bart she fully intended to ride with the Mavericks to find Meyers and the Sanborns. Bret and Beau continued to hold vigil over Bart and Doc raised no objections when they took turns sleeping on the floor. Neither was going to leave any time soon. Harry brought food at night and sat with them for a while but left to close the saloon at midnight. Georgia ran errands and brought whatever they needed so that both Mavericks were always there.

Bret was outside again when the sun came up. Funny thing, he'd played poker all night many times and watched the sun rise, but it never looked quite the way it did this morning. He smoked another cigar as the light came up through the trees and he wondered what the day would bring. He was so tired; his mind went off on the funniest tracks. How did Pappy meet Momma? In all the years growing up and listening to Pappy's tales, neither of the boys ever asked that question. Suddenly Bret wanted to know. What went through Pappy's mind when Belle told him of his impending fatherhood? Was he happy when a second son was born? And how did he feel about grooming them to replace him as the best poker playing Maverick in all of Texas? Surely Beau must have similar questions? Maybe not. Beauregard and Bentley were brothers, true enough, but not as alike as Bret and Bart were.

Even though Pappy married first and had a child first, Uncle Ben had been quicker to settle down, content to stay in Texas and raise his son. Beauregard was still traveling from place to place, leaving Belle and the boys alone for long stretches at a time. His was a never ending journey driven by the Maverick wanderlust. It wasn't until Belle took ill and died that Pappy realized what he had missed, and knew it was too late to get it back. That was one of the reasons for the standing edict that 'his boys' not marry until they were thirty-eight. Get it all out of the way first, then stay in one place and find peace and joy in what you had.

So Bret watched another sunrise and said a silent prayer that it wouldn't be his brother's last. Doc was afraid to give them any hope, yet the longer Bart held on the more Doc believed anything was possible. The waiting was intolerable but the thought of the waiting ending was even more agonizing.

He glanced down the street and watched a lone horseman ride slowly towards the hotel. Somewhere a rooster crowed and a dog barked, signaling the beginning of another day. His mind was off and running again, wondering what it was like for Bart growing up with him as an older brother. Not only him but Beau, too. Did Bart feel picked on or protected? Beat up or beat down? Loved or loathed? Bret had to admit there were times when the last thing in the world he wanted was a little brother. Little no longer, they were almost the same height but Bret and Pappy were solid, built hard and muscular. Bart was thinner, more willowy, more like Momma had been. Beau favored Bret's build more than Bart's. All three were good sized men, and though they all claimed to be pacifists, each was more than capable of holding his own in a fair fight. That's why all this bothered Bret so much; Bart was sucker punched from the very beginning and never stood a chance. Between the physical beating and the mental and emotional beating he'd been subjected to, his hands were tied behind him from the start.

God, where was all this coming from? What had happened to the man whose mind was content to worry about drawing the third trey or whether the fat man with the cigar was bluffing? Had they been here so long and gone through so much that he was forever changed? And what if he wasn't? What if he was still the same womanizing, con man card sharp? What then? Would he go right back to drifting from town to town, chasing that one elusive big pot? Would he end up like Pappy, old and alone?

He shook his head as if to rid it of all these thoughts and stubbed out the cigar. Beau walked out the front door of the office and leaned against the hitching rail in front of the building. "Looks different when you're not inside a saloon, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." Pause. "Any change?"

"Nope." Beau reached up and scratched his head. "Winter's comin'."

"Yeah." This is what they were reduced to talking about? "Beau, I have to ask you something."

There was an ominous statement. Beau asked anyway, "What?"

"Georgia. What's going on there?"

Beau decided to proceed with immense caution. Just because Bart hadn't given him a hard time didn't mean that Bret wouldn't. "Nothing at the moment."

An 'oh-no-you-don't' look passed from the oldest Maverick to his cousin. "You know what I mean."

Why was it so much easier to talk to Bart? It had always been that way, even when they were kids. Chronologically closer to Bret, he was still emotionally closer to Bart. Maybe he wanted Bret's approval but was afraid he wouldn't get it? Well, Bart wasn't here to be his conscience, so Bret would have to do. He decided to plunge ahead. "I'm in love with her, Bret."

Did Beau think he didn't know that already? "And what are you going to do about it?"

Bret's answer left Beau momentarily taken aback. Was it going to be this straightforward and easy with Bret, too? Beau hadn't anticipated this out of Uncle Beauregard's oldest son. Maybe neither of his cousin's was as much like their father as Beau feared. "I'm going to marry her."

That was not a totally unexpected answer. Beau had some sort of 'proper society' moral filter that neither of Pappy's sons seemed to possess. After all, he was the one boy out of the three that volunteered to serve in the Confederate Army rather than be drafted. Bart and Bret were a little more likely to look at society's restrictions and flaunt them; Beau was more willing to abide by them. "Have you asked the lady yet?"

Beau looked down at the ground and kicked at a lump of dirt. He sounded about ten years old when he answered "No."

"Don't you think you should?"

"I was waiting until this was over."

"What if it doesn't end the way we want it to? How much longer are you gonna wait then?" Bret almost didn't say the rest of it, but decided he should. "Are you waiting for Bart's blessing?"

Beau shook his head. "No, he already gave me that."

Bret was surprised that Beau had spoken to Bart. How much had he missed while he was off chasing Meyers? "And you're still waiting for -?"

"I don't know. The right time?" Beau sounded totally unsure.

"Which is going to be when?"

"I don't know."

Bret asked the question that Bart hadn't. "Are you sure?"

The answer was waiting for him. With no hesitation Beau stated, "Yes."

"Then ask the woman, for God's sake."

Almost as if on cue, Georgia Mayfield left 'The Three Mavericks' Saloon and started up the sidewalk with breakfast, or at least what passed for breakfast. She'd finally given up on trying to feed this group and brought simply coffee and toast. Beau hurried down the street to meet her, leaving Bret standing on the sidewalk alone. The way he'd been in the very beginning, and might have to be again.


	42. Chapter 42 Amore

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 42 - Amore

Two more days passed, each one slower than the one before. Jody went by Doc Washburn's office on her way out to the schoolhouse, staying as long as she could and continuing to tell Bart stories from her childhood. As soon as school was over for the day she returned, bringing a fresh pot of coffee and her lesson preparations for the next day. Harry brought dinner at night, even Bret began eating small meals to go with the never ending supply of coffee that he drank. Georgia came up as often as she could, but she was basically running the saloon by herself and spent most of her time there. Bret and Beau spent most of their days helping Doc do whatever was necessary to keep a steady stream of medicine in Bart; when not occupied with that Beau would go visit the saloon and Bret wrote a lot of letters to Pappy. He'd never written much before, now he occupied his time asking all the questions he hadn't thought to ask. He'd gotten a telegram from Pappy simply stating:

Don't Let Him Die.

On My Way.

Love, Pappy

It was the signature that got to Bret. 'Love, Pappy'? He'd never heard Beauregard Maverick say that before in his life. That's when he started writing the letters. Maybe someday he would get answers.

Finally on the morning of the fourth day Doc had some good news for them – Bart's fever had broken sometime during the night. It was the first positive sign they'd had in almost a week. Later in the morning Doc suspected Bart might actually 'wake up' from whatever coma-like state he'd been in. Again the questions arose regarding his ability to come back from this latest attack – but no one dared speak them out loud. None of them cared what 'version' of Bart Maverick returned to them – just as long as he returned.

The whole day expired, however, and there was no change. The optimism of that morning faded with every passing hour; by evening each of them was once again hoping and praying for any improvement. Bret couldn't take the watching and waiting anymore and had to get out. He'd spent the most time at Bart's bedside and thought he might go crazy if he didn't get away for just a few minutes. The perfect solution seemed like the saloon, where the noise and activity would keep him distracted from thinking. After telling Doc, Beau and Jody where he was going he headed down the street towards 'The Three Mavericks.' He walked quickly and didn't see the man watching him.

Rusty Meyers wasn't taking much of a chance by coming into town; no one here knew what he looked like. He watched Maverick make his way down the sidewalk and wondered if they'd have been more successful with their attack if he'd been their target. Probably not, he figured. But he sure would have enjoyed it.

He and the Sanborns had been holed up on the far side of the JP Ranch, on the other end of Silver Creek itself. Once or twice they'd eluded the posse just by moving in circles; whoever was in charge of the posse wasn't much of a tracker. When they'd finally given up several days ago Rusty decided he was going in to town to find out what all the fuss was about. That's when he heard the story of the sheriff's return empty handed and the subsequent collapse of the accused murderer. He couldn't believe their good fortune; the only man who could identify them had been barely clinging to life since then and word circulated around town that he wouldn't make it.

So far everything was working out nicely. Meyers had to pat himself on the back for the 'little touch' with Edgar's photo; that seemed to have an impact on the trial. Only one way Maverick could have gotten it, gossip said – and that pointed to him as the murderer. Idle curiosity is what kept Rusty in Silver Creek longer than he'd anticipated. He wanted to see how this all turned out.

Bret entered the saloon without suspecting he was being watched. Everything looked normal; the bar was full, the poker tables were full, and the roulette wheel had a crowd around it. Since the gaming had taken on a 100% legitimate flavor, revenues were up higher than they'd been since Jessie died. Georgia certainly knew what she was doing running the business. He'd have to tell her how pleased he was with her management.

Harry was behind the bar, as usual, and they were so busy that Alvin was working with him. Where did all these men come from? That was a question that never crossed his mind when he was simply one more of them playing poker.

Harry caught his eye and signaled him over. "Boss man, " Harry's name for all three of the Mavericks, "Mr. Foster came in to see if either you or Mr. Beau was here. Said for you to come by his office if you dropped in here and you had a chance. Didn't want to barge in on you at Doc's."

"Thanks, Harry, one of us will get by to see Hiram tomorrow. Anything else?"

"Yes sir, Miz Georgia said to let her know if you came in. She wanted to see you."

"Me or Beau?" Bret asked.

"No sir, not Mr. Beau. Just you."

"Okay. Thanks." Bret stepped behind the bar and poured himself a coffee. Doc made terrible coffee at his office and they only got a decent drink when Georgia or Jody brought a pot. He thought of Bart, who'd stood behind the bar and felt like he belonged there. Then he took his cup and went to her office.

She was sitting behind her desk working on a column of numbers and didn't look up until he knocked on the door. "I'm sorry, Bret, I didn't hear you. Please come in and sit down."

He took a seat in front of her desk and she got up and closed the office door. "Private conversation?" he asked.

"Yes. I wanted to talk to you about Beau."

"Isn't this a conversation you should have with Beau?" Bret asked her.

"No." Georgia was fidgety and nervous, and obviously had something on her mind. "He said he loved me the other night."

Bret wasn't surprised at that, just that Georgia had shared it with him. "He does."

"I didn't say it back to him."

That remark made an eyebrow shoot up. "Oh?"

Georgia sat quietly and didn't say anything. So Bret asked her instead, "Why not?"

"I can't say it."

"You can't say it or you won't say it?" Bret needed some clarification before he went any further.

"I won't say it."

"Do you love him?" Here was the heart of the matter as far as Bret was concerned. And why was Georgia bringing this up to him? Oh right, she couldn't talk to Bart. Once again he wondered how much he'd actually missed when he was gone.

"Yeeeeeessssss." The longest, most drawn out answer ever given.

"Then why won't you tell him?"

She hung her head in embarrassment. This was more difficult than she'd imagined. "Because Jody says he's going to ask me to marry him."

"And that's bad?"

"No, it's not bad. Oh alright, it's terrible. It's worse than awful."

'_Women. Love 'em but you'll never understand 'em.' _"What's wrong with that?"

"We shouldn't be married. It would ruin his life."

Just what had Brother Bart said to this poor woman? She was obviously in love with his cousin but scared to death of marrying him. "Why would it ruin his life?"

"Because I'm not the woman he needs. Don't you understand? He wants to travel around, and I won't go. I'm too old for him. What if he wants children? I can't give him any. Because I love him too much." The answers just poured out of her, like opening the floodgates of a dam.

He waited until she'd run out of steam and then sat there an extra minute, just in case. "Georgia. The first thing you said makes no sense. You're not the woman he needs? Says who? You're exactly the woman he needs. I'm sure he'll have a plan for the traveling around thing. You're not too old for him. You're not that much older than he is. And Beau has never in his whole life said a word about wanting to have a child. And one last thing." He paused so that she would really listen to him. "You love him too much to marry him? What kind of sense does that make?"

"I don't know. I'm so confused!" With that she burst into tears.

"Oh, now stop." Tears. They got him every time. What a weapon tears made! They could bring the strongest man to his knees in an instant. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

Georgia was not prone to displays of emotion so the tears stopped and dried quickly. "I don't know what to do."

The answer was obvious. "Nothing. You do nothing. Unless he actually asks you, this is all just speculation. Just wait and see what happens. You've both got common sense; you'll figure it out. But don't let someone else make the decision for you." He was about to say something more to her when there was a frantic knock on the door and before anyone could say anything, Harry burst in.

"Boss man, you better come quick. Somethin's happened up at Doc Washburn's."


	43. Chapter 43 Morpheus

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 43 - Morpheus

Bret ran as fast as he could, back up the street to Doc's office. He burst through the front door and was out of breath. Jody was in the front office waiting for him, and she jumped up and down excitedly. "He opened his eyes! He opened his eyes!"

Bret threw his arms wide and she flew into them, clinging to him like a child. Rather than putting her back down on the floor he just carried her with him into the exam room. Doc was sitting on a chair next to the cot, quietly talking to Bart, and Beau stood right behind him, trying not to look like a kid with a new toy. Bret and Jody both had to calm down to hear what Doc was saying.

" . . . . it's been almost five days, Bart. You've been unconscious and we've all been waiting for you to wake up. Do you understand what I've told you?"

There was a weak sound of some sort from the cot. Doc looked up at Bret and Jody and mouthed "I think so." Then he motioned Bret over to his chair; Doc got up and Bret took his place.

"Bart?" Those deep brown eyes looked at him with no hint of recognition. "Bart, it's your brother Bret. Are you there somewhere?"

The eyes looked around the room, then back at Bret. No reaction from his brother. Jody moved behind Bret's chair and bent low, to look right at the man on the cot. "Hi, Bartley, it's Jody. You were gone for quite a while. Are you coming back to us?"

For just a moment there was a flicker, a glimmer of something. Then blank again. Just like the first time he'd woken up after the beating. Bret rose from the chair and let Jody sit down, then turned to Beau.

"Anything?"

Bret shook his head. "Nothing. Just like before. Like he's not even in there."

Doc pulled them both aside. "Don't put too much in what you just saw – or didn't see. He's bound to be disoriented for a while – he was unconscious for the better part of five days. I'm just plum thrilled that he's alive and breathin'. At least he's got a chance now."

Bret looked at the doctor with skepticism. "Does he Doc? A real chance? To be himself again? And just who is that anymore?"

"Bret, you can't expect him to just wake up and be right. His brain suffered a traumatic injury of some sort. The man should have been dead months ago. He's come through two attacks that would have killed most other men. And he's here. That boy's got the strongest will to live of any man I've ever seen. Give him a chance."

Bret looked down at the ground, then at Beau; finally at the Doctor. "I can't do this anymore, Doc. I can't sit here and wait to see if my brother is really alive. I don't mean just breathin'. I mean alive and livin' the life he was born to live. I've got to go."

Bret started to turn and walk away. Beau reached out and grabbed his arm and Bret pulled away, angrily storming out the back door. He had to get out of here and go – anywhere. He slipped down to the livery and saddled his horse. He threw an extra blanket under the saddle and mounted, tearing out the livery doors and through the town like the devil was after him. It didn't matter where he went; he just had to ride. He let the horse go wherever he wanted to go. There was no time, no direction, no thought – just paralyzing cold and the wind stinging his face. After a while the horse slowed down to a walk and Bret wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and just let him. Before he knew it his head was in his hands and he was sobbing. Everything he'd been holding in for months came pouring out, and he cried until there were no more tears.

The horse continued walking until he found shelter from the wind in a grove of trees. Bret sat there for a few minutes, while the horse nibbled on some bushes, then he slowly dismounted and pulled off the saddle. He felt totally drained of all emotion. All he wanted was sleep.

XXXXXXXX

He propped the saddle up against a large boulder and tied the horse to a tree. He laid one blanket down on the ground and used the spare as a cover. He didn't bother with a fire, he was too tired. If some wild animal wanted to come and eat whatever was left of him, so be it. He rested his head against the saddle and covered his face with his hat. And he slept.

Beau looked at Doc, then at Jody, who was silent, still sitting by Bart's side. "I'm sorry," Beau explained, "There's just too heavy a load for him to carry. He'll be back as soon as he works it all out."

"I wish he'd a listened," Doc Washburn replied. "I tried to tell him anything could happen. You can't expect miracles. It's like burnin' all the oil outta a lamp and then excpectin' it to burn bright without gettin' refilled. You gotta give it some time."

Jody stood up from her chair. "He's closed his eyes again. Is that okay, Doc?"

The doctor turned towards Jody. "Probably. Too much happenin' at one time; he can't comprehend it all. Probably just sleep now. Not gonna do any good bein' here tonight, the both of ya. Go on home, Miss Jody," and here he turned back to Beau, "and you go get some sleep in a real bed. I'm stayin' right here tonight, got another blanket and I can use the exam table. One more night won't kill me. Go on, git, both a ya."

Jody nodded her head and Beau offered his arm. She took it and they walked out into the crisp night air.

"You really love him, don't you Jody?"

She lowered her head shyly. "Yes, Beauregard, I do. Like we were kin. We're connected somehow." She stopped and looked at him. "Not I don't love you and Bret, I do. But it's different with Bart. First time I ever saw him I knew it." She started walking again. "You think Bret's alright?"

He answered her truthfully. "He will be. I've seen him do this before. He takes it all on himself, like it's his fault and responsibility, and nobody else is to blame. Then he just keeps taking more on until he can't handle it and he breaks. He always works it out. Course he's usually got Bart to bounce things off of; I guess he'll just have to settle for us."

They walked a ways down the street in silence. Then Beau finally asked "Are you going home or the saloon?"

"Home," she answered. "Do you mind?"

"Nope, not at all."

"Have you talked to mama yet?

"Sort of. I told her there was something I wanted to talk to her about and wanted to know if we could discuss it when this was all over. She said yes."

"Well, isn't that romantic. Sort of like proposing to propose. She's not a schoolgirl, you know. She'll figure out what you want to ask and then she'll have all sorts of reasons for turning you down."

"Really? She'd turn me down?" Beau was confused by Jody's remark. He loved Georgia. He knew that she loved him. Why would she turn him down?

Jody explained. "Georgia Mayfield has only loved one other man her entire life. My father. When daddy was killed she swore she'd never marry again because she couldn't possibly find another man to love as much as she loved him. Time went by, I grew up, Aunt Jessie died and she didn't have the saloon any more. She was lost, alone and lonely. And then three charming rascals came to town and befriended her and it was like she woke up from a deep sleep. But she's afraid it won't last. Especially with a roving gambler like you. And she'd rather hurt now than later."

He listened to Jody's explanation and understood her reasoning. But Georgia had to know he was different. He'd really loved only once before in his life and he'd lost her to cholera. He wasn't about to let Georgia go.

They'd arrived at the Mayfield home. There was a single light in the window, which meant that someone was home and asleep. What he had to say would have to wait for morning. He held the gate open for Jody and walked her up the stairs to the porch. "I won't let her go, Jody."

Jody looked up at him and prayed he was sincere. "I hope you mean that, Beauregard. She deserves to be happy."

"Yes she does." Then almost to himself, "Yes she does."


	44. Chapter 44 What If?

Jessie Maverick's Kin

**PLEASE READ NOTE TO READERS AT END OF CHAPTER**

Chapter 44 - What If?

Every part of his body hurt, from the top of his head on down. It was easy to understand when you looked at the sleeping accommodations – a saddle backed by a boulder for a pillow and the cold hard ground as a bed. Still, the sleep had been a welcome companion last night and he didn't regret it.

Bret Maverick opened his eyes and looked at the sky. Cold and clear, with just a wisp of a cloud to the north. It was freezing outside of the horse blanket he'd used as a cover and he had no fire. He stretched and yawned and wondered how long he'd been there. Let's see, last night –

Oh, last night. Now he remembered why his body ached so. Pain, disappointment and more pain had caused him to flee the relative 'comforts' of Doc Washburn's office floor and run into the wild until neither he nor his horse could run any more. And here was where he stopped running.

Nothing had changed since last night, yet everything had changed. The only path open to him was clear: go back to Silver Creek, help his brother in whatever way he could, and find the men that were the source of so much pain in his life and kill them. Not murder; kill. It didn't matter how they died; swinging at the end of a rope was just as effective a method as shooting them. As long as they were dead. Why had it taken a wild flight from the town and everything in it to clarify his intentions?

It was easier to look at in the cold light of day than it had been in the dark of night. His brother might not ever be the person he once was but, by God, Bart was still his brother. One of the men who had visited so much grief and misery upon the Mavericks was dead; that's what the others needed to be. And if it fell upon his shoulders to make sure they were, he would accept that responsibility. Slowly he threw off the horse blanket and gathered himself for a return to town. He needed to get back and make sure that Bart hadn't slipped away from them after all.

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Jody woke up late and didn't have time to do anything but get ready for school. She'd wanted to talk to her mother and stop by Doc Washburn's on her way to the schoolhouse and see if there was any further change in Bart but it took every ounce of resistance in her being to fulfill her first priority, and that was the commitment she'd made to the children of Silver Creek.

On her way past the Doctor's office she noticed that Bret's horse was tethered to the hitching rail in front. Good. Hopefully that meant he was back to stay. Bart needed all the support he could get right now, as did poor Beau. She had no doubt that Bret loved both his brother and cousin, but the man she loved as a brother and the man who loved her mother were her primary concerns. Bret's wounds, whatever they were, would have to wait. She prayed that anything she found when she finally returned to Doc's would be good news rather than bad.

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Beau rolled over in the bed and stared at the walls of his room. Yep, they were still there. Doc had the best of intentions last night when he tried to send Jody and Beau home to get a decent night's sleep. He hoped that Jody was more successful than he was.

All night he'd tossed and turned, trying to work out any potential problem with Georgia in his head. He began doing that once he realized that being awake was inevitable. Why was love difficult? He loved the woman and wanted to marry her. Nothing else was important.

Giving up on getting anywhere, either with sleep or Georgia, Beau got out of bed and decided to shave and get dressed. Then even the shaving went by the wayside as he realized that Doc's was the only place he could get hot water this early in the morning. So getting dressed it was, then coffee from the dining room downstairs. He'd spent so many days suffering from lack of sleep that he'd given up drinking tea; it just didn't have the attributes of the hot, black liquid gold they all lived off. The cute server that had attended the Mavericks when they first arrived had been replaced by an older, grumpier version. But efficient, he mused, as he held the steaming mug in his hand. It didn't take long to finish his first cup and start in on his second. By that time he'd already seen Bret, looking exactly like he'd spent a night in hell, ride past the hotel, headed for Doc's office. He put the mug down, threw two coins on the table and left.

xxxxxxxx

Silver Creek was up and functioning by the time Bret rode down main street but most of the townsfolk were still asleep. Only the merchants seemed to be early risers here, the streets were fairly devoid of people. Bret let the horse take his time and meander his way down to Doc Washburn's office. Poor beast had been ridden hard enough last night and Bret was in no mood to tempt fate. He was lucky the animal hadn't broken a leg or taken a header off of a cliff the reckless way he was ridden. Bret promised that as soon as he checked on his brother he would see to his horses comfort.

Bret dismounted and wrapped the reins around the hitching rail. Doc's front door was closed but unlocked. He entered and there was no sight of the man to whom he would be indebted for life; Doc had saved Bart three times. At least saved him physically. He walked on into Doc's inner exam room and found Doc seated next to the cot, and he would almost swear that he saw Bart's head move slightly. Doc looked up and saw Bret standing at the exam table and waved him over. Once Bret came round behind Doc he could see Bart's eyes blink and look up at him. Something that had been missing in those eyes before was there now. All Bret could say was "Bart?"

Bart's eyes blinked again in response to the question and Bret knew that his brother not only heard him, he understood him. Bret's whole body sagged in relief. "Doc?" he asked of Doctor Washburn.

"Not talkin' yet, but that's to be expected. But he seems to hear us and understand us. Give him a day or two, you probably won't be able to shut him up!"

Bart made a strangled gurgling noise and blinked.

"Never could shut him up for long," Bret volunteered. His brother was alive! Not only alive, but aware of what was going on.

The door to Doc's exam room swung open and Beau stood there, staring at them. "What's happened?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"Come over and see for yourself."

Beau practically jumped over the exam table to get around the moved out of the way and Bret took his chair, with Beau moving in behind him. Bart blinked, as if in recognition, and Beau's smile was enough to light up the entire town. "Glad to have you back, Cousin."

Again that gurgling sound. Bart was definitely letting them know he was alive. Beau rested a hand on Bret's shoulder. "I'm going to get Jody. She'd never forgive me if I didn't."

Much to Beau's surprise Bret turned toward him and covered Beau's hand with one of his own. "Thanks."

Beau raised an eyebrow in question but never said anything. He knew his cousin meant 'for last night.' He squeezed Bret's shoulder and left via the front door, taking the tied up horse as a mount. "I'll be right back," Bret told Bart and got up to go to the front office, where Doc was busy making what he referred to as 'the devil's brew.' He had an old converted kerosene lamp that he used to heat water and it made the most obnoxious, foul smelling liquid in the state. And Bret would give anything for a cup of it right now.

"Doc, what's gonna happen now?"

Doc turned and faced the concerned brother. He was hoping to have a better answer when the question was asked but right now he didn't. "Bret, my boy, I wish I could give you a 'fer shure' answer but I can't. We just have to wait it out and see what happens. He seems to know what's goin' on and what's bein' said to him. We'll have a better idea of where to go and how to git there once he can talk to us. But it sure does look like he's beat the odds again. Must be the best damn poker player on the planet."

"Or the luckiest," Bret added as an afterthought. "Thanks, Doc. I just want to know what kind of cards we're holdin'."

"Pretty darn good ones, I'd say," was the answer.

XXXXXXXX

A few minutes later Bret had a cup of Doc's potent concoction and Beau had returned with Jody. Rather Jody had returned and Beau followed. She almost flew through the door, stopping long enough to grab Doc's face, pull it down to her level and kiss the startled old man on the cheek. Bret knew better than to stand in her way so he vacated the chair for her to sit in and when he wasn't looking she grabbed his head and planted the same kiss on him. Then she fluttered in to the chair at Bart's makeshift bedside and kissed his cheek for good measure. "Welcome back, Bartley! Lordy, you gave us a scare. Even poor little Adam wanted to know how you were! That's the last time that happens, hear me?" Just then she bent over and whispered something in his ear. Another attempted gurgling noise, but this one actually sounded a little like a chuckle.

"Jody Mayfield, you stop tryin' to make that boy laugh, you hear?" Doc's admonition sounded about as threatening as a newborn baby calf's cry for its mama. He couldn't help but smile at the way she made everyone feel better. She'd be a fine wife and mother someday, and a good strong partner for a strong man. Maybe for one of these boys, if only . . . . . . No, he didn't dare go there. He'd think about if later. When all this was behind them.

**NOTE TO READERS**: I want to sincerely apologize for a grave error on my part. As you can see from above, there are now scene breaks (XXXXXXXX) in the story where they should be. I didn't realize that these were not importing with my story and each chapter has run all together without them. I have gone back and fixed the mistake in all chapters of this story and hope that things will now make more sense! I am so sorry for my own ineptness and apologize for not catching it sooner! Lynch mob convenes at 7 p.m. for anyone interested.


	45. Chapter 45 The Arrival

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 45 – The Arrival

Bart's recovery was slow and painful; his speech came back in pieces but sometimes he reached for a word that wasn't there. Jody stayed by his bedside, patiently re-telling him all the stories she'd relayed before when he was unconscious

Two days later Judge Kincaid arrived on the stage from the county seat and was greeted by Sheriff Bowman. Bart had been moved from Doc Washburn's exam room to Bret's hotel room and Deputy Willis was posted in the hall outside to ascertain that there would be no escape attempts. An hour after the Judge's arrival, Bret was summoned to the jail. It was the first time he'd been there since Bart's trial was delayed.

When he reached the jail he found Doc Washburn, Hiram Foster and Albie Grayson all in attendance. Grayson had remained in Silver Creek while the Judge was called away; he was well versed in everything that had happened and verified Doc's account of it all. Grayson was the first to speak. "Mr. Maverick, we realize what an ordeal your brother has been through and we don't wish to make his recovery more difficult. Both the Judge and I have other obligations that will necessitate our returning to the Fergus County seat within a matter of weeks. If we don't restart the trial within the next few days Judge Kincaid will be forced to declare a mistrial."

"Would the case be re-tried?" Bret asked.

The Judge answered him. "Yes Mr. Maverick, there was enough evidence presented to warrant a retrial. That would entail seating a new judge and presenting all evidence from the beginning over again. That is our concern. Would your brother be strong enough within a week to resume proceedings?"

Bret wanted to make sure he had this straight. "So Bart has two choices – either restart the trial with you presiding, Judge Kincaid, or go through this all over again with a new Judge? The whole trial?"

"Yes, Mr. Maverick, the whole trial."

"I can't ask him to make a decision like that, Judge."

Kincaid looked at him with sympathy. "That's why we've come to you, sir. You need to present the options to your brother or make the decision for him."

"Let me get this straight – you want me to decide for him?" Bret's tone was incredulous. He couldn't believe they were asking this of him. He turned his attention to Hiram Foster. "Mr. Foster, can I speak with you outside?" Hiram nodded yes and the two of them walked outside.

"What am I supposed to do, Hiram?"

"I can not make the decision for you Bret, but I would ask you some questions that may make your choice easier. How long do you think it will be before Bart can sit through another trial? And hear the same testimony over again? And what will happen to him if he has to reside in jail for months while he tries to regain his strength?"

The attorney made good points. It could be a long time before Bart was capable of going through this circus again, and even then he might not be able to handle the strain. And if Bret didn't succeed in getting him out of that jail where he could be cared for while attempting to heal he didn't stand a chance. Hiram was right; he had made the decision easier. "Are you ready to resume?"

"We were almost done, Bret. I can't imagine Grayson having any more than a few follow up questions, then our side rests. It should all be over in two more days at the most."

"Alright, then let's get it over."

Hiram again nodded. "I think that's the best choice."

They walked back inside, the decision made. "Judge, we think it best to proceed with you at the helm. When do you want to get started?"

"On Monday. Thank you both for understanding the urgency for the decision. I will allow the defendant to remain at the hotel with Deputy Willis posted as guard. It is my belief that he poses no flight risk or threat at this time. Sheriff Bowman, please continue to make whatever accommodations necessary for Mr. Maverick's recovery. I will see everyone in court on Monday." With that Judge Kincaid stood, shook hands with Grayson, then Foster, and finally with Bret. Sheriff Mort didn't look happy but said nothing.

Doc grabbed Bret's arm and pulled him aside. "I think that's best. No sense draggin' this out, he needs time to get well, not time sittin' in a jail cell."

Bret noticed that Doc assumed a not guilty verdict. He sighed, wishing he could assume the same. "Thanks, Doc. I hate having to decide something that shouldn't be my decision to make."

"Yer doin' fine, boy. You can make decisions fer me anytime you want."

Mort Bowman approached the two men. "Maverick, Willis'll stay at the hotel long as I've got nobody else in jail to worry about. That changes we'll have to make other arrangements."

Bret said nothing to the sheriff, simply turned his back and walked away. Foster walked back out of the jail with him. "A word to the wise, Bret," Hiram offered once they were outside. "Don't do anything to aggravate Mort further."

That was like asking him not to breathe. "I can't help it, Hiram. I don't like lawmen to begin with, and Mort's a special case. All he has to do is his job. Is that too much?"

Hiram's answer was thoughtful and ambiguous. "Depends on whose definition of the job we're talking about."

For someone who'd known the Mavericks less than a year, Hiram Foster seemed to have a pretty fair idea of who they were. As for lawmen – protect the women and children and get out of my way. That applied in spades to Mort Bowman. Bret had to chuckle at the realization.

"Mr. Foster, you're a good man. Glad you're on our side." Bret shook hands with the attorney and turned to walk back to the hotel. Just then the stagecoach from Denver pulled into town. Bret wouldn't have paid much attention normally but something caught his eye and he stopped in his tracks. The driver threw down a single bag and the coach door opened. Out stepped an older, grayer, more elegant version of Bret himself. Beauregard Maverick had arrived.

XXXXXXXX

Pappy was as sharply dressed as ever. His hair was whiter, his body a little thinner than Bret remembered, still he looked reasonably good for a man who'd traveled all the way from Texas to find out if his youngest son was dead or alive. He stopped to light his normal cigar and wait for Bret to come and escort him. The oldest son did just that.

"Pappy, you're looking well. I take it the trip wasn't too difficult?" Bret picked Beauregard's suitcase up and took it with them. They started down the sidewalk with only one thing on Pappy's mind. "Of course I'm well, Bret, what did you expect? And what's been going on up here? How's your brother?'

Bret was relieved to be able to tell his father the entire story, from beginning to end. They had to stop and sit in the hotel lobby to allow enough time for him to conclude the tale; he wanted the story of the last year finished before going up to see Bart. That way Pappy could pepper him with questions and concentrate on Bart when they got upstairs. "And Jody is with him now, you say?"

"Yep, I got called to the jail this morning and Jody stayed with Bart. He's not well enough to be left alone yet."

"Why did they want you at the jail? And where's your cousin Beau?"

That part of it was not going to be pleasant to explain. "They're going to restart the trial on Monday. I met with the Judge and the attorneys. And Beau is down at the saloon, running the place. He's quite the manager, Pappy. Place is making money."

"Should be. Takes after his father. Why do they persist in continuing the trial?"

"Bart made himself a mess, Pappy, and we're gonna have to get him out of it. The sheriff and posse couldn't dig up any trace of Meyers and the Sanborns; Beau and I are gonna find the rabbit hole they disappeared down and haul their sorry butts back in. Are you ready?" Bret hoped that Pappy was really prepared for his visitation with Bart.

Suddenly Pappy looked ten years older. He stood up, straight and tall and announced, "Yes son, I am. Let's go."

They climbed the stairs to room 211 and Bret opened the door. As usual, Bart sat by the window wrapped up in a blanket, with Jody at his side reading from 'Moby Dick.' She stood as soon as she saw Pappy; there was no mistaking that this was the infamous Beauregard Maverick. Pappy glanced at Jody quickly and then had to stop himself from staring at her. _'Jessie,' _was the first thought that ran through his mind. He focused instead on the pale, thin shell sitting on the chair. It was only the eyes that gave any hint to the fact that this was what there was of his youngest son.

"Bart!" It was a strangled cry that escaped his mouth as he rushed forward. "Bartley." Jody's familiar greeting issued forth from Pappy's lips. He hurried over to the gaunt figure and threw his arms around his son, his boy_. 'Dear God,'_ his mind raced, _'I thought Bret was exaggerating. This is worse than I could have imagined.' _Bart struggled to extract his arms from the blanket and wrapped himself around his father. They stood that way for minutes; father standing, son seated, Beauregard willing himself not to sob at the poor, pitiful sight before him. What had he been through to leave him looking so, so . . . . demolished was the only word that came to mind.

Bret set the suitcase down inside the room, took Jody's hand and led her out into the hall where Deputy Willis stood guard. He'd seen Pappy upset and miserable before; the day of their mother's death came to mind. But not like this. Never like this. It took all that Bret had to keep his emotions in check and his voice steady. "They need some time, Jody."

She nodded her head as tears came to her eyes. "Yes Bret, they do. Let's go get some tea."

The dining room was practically full but they found a table. Bret ordered his usual coffee and tea for Jody and they sat in silence waiting for their drinks. "You look just like him, you know."

Bret nodded his head. He'd heard that all his life. "I think that's what made it so hard on Bart. I looked like Pappy, Cousin Beau favored his mother Abigail. Bart didn't look like anybody."

"Like Jessie," Jody volunteered.

"Ah yes, but we didn't know Aunt Jessie existed. If it weren't for his temperament and card playing abilities, Bart might as well have belonged to the blacksmith. It was tough on him growing up. But he's got the Maverick wanderlust and the card sharp skills that brand him irrefutably one of us."

Jody knew what it was like to grow up as a misfit. "None of us ever understood why I looked more like Aunt Jessie than mama. That's just the way it is, I guess."

Just then Beau came running into the dining room looking for them. "Uncle Beauregard is here?"

"Yep. Upstairs with Bart. Have some tea, Cousin Beau?"


	46. Chapter 46 It's All Over Now

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 46 – It's all Over Now

Bang, bang, bang. "Court will now come to order. Judge Horace Kincaid presiding."

Everyone stood as Judge Kincaid entered the courtroom. Everyone except the defendant, who looked like he might topple over at any second if he stood up. The defense table now held Hiram Foster, attorney, Bart Maverick, defendant, and Orin Washburn, Doctor, just in case. Right behind the table sat the Mavericks, Bret, Beau and Beauregard, Bart and Bret's father. Jody Mayfield sat between Bret and Beau.

"Would the defendant please retake the stand." That in itself was going to take some doing. Hiram Walker helped Bart to his feet and he leaned heavily on his attorney and the cane Doc had given him to stand and walk to the witness chair. "Please remember that you are still under oath, Mr. Maverick."

Bart nodded. How could he forget? Albie Grayson rose from his chair and walked to the witness stand. "Mr. Maverick, when Sheriff Bowman returned to this courtroom almost two weeks ago I had just asked if it was you that killed Edgar Pike. I believe the court is still waiting for your answer."

Bart sat as straight as he could and said in a clear voice, "No, Mr. Grayson, I did not kill Edgar Pike."

"Are you sure, Mr. Maverick? Because the last time I asked that question you couldn't answer me."

"Objection, your Honor. The question has been asked and answered."

Judge Kincaid concurred. "Sustained. Move on, Mr. Grayson."

"Yes, your Honor. Mr. Maverick, what was it about Sheriff Bowman's arrival in this courtroom that caused your physical impairment?"

"I'm . . . I'm not sure what you mean."

"Why were you upset when the sheriff returned alone?"

Bart struggled to put his exact answer into words. He looked over at the row of seats behind the defense table and Pappy and Jody were both smiling at him, trying to give him the extra energy he needed to make himself clear. "Because I knew there were three wanted men still out there, and at least one of them was a murderer."

"And who would that be, Mr. Maverick?"

"Rusty Meyers and Pete and Jack Sanborn." Was talking always this difficult? Bart felt like he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

"Ah, the elusive outlaws. That no one but you has seen. And what do they look like, Mr. Maverick?"

"Objection, your Honor, is this really necessary? My client has only seen these men one time, the night they almost beat him to death." Hiram's voice sounded annoyed.

"Yes, Mr. Foster, I believe it is. Objection overruled. You may answer the question, Mr. Maverick."

Pappy had a death grip on the courthouse railing in front of him. He hated lawyers. And lawmen. And bullies. And cheaters. Right now he hated Albie Grayson most of all.

"Well . . . . Pete and Jack are brothers. Kinda tall, sandy haired. Thin side. Younger, maybe 24 – 25. Not much of a resemblance to each other. Meyers is shorter, stockier, older. Red headed, that's why 'Rusty.' Strong as a bull. Mean look in his eyes. Gets pleasure out of other people's pain." Bart was struggling to breathe, but it wasn't like before during questioning. He simply hadn't talked this much in weeks. "That's the best . . . .best I can do with a description. But I'd know 'em if I'd see 'em."

"Sounds like half the men in this town. Are you sure they're not in this courtroom right now?"

A ripple of laughter rang through the courtroom. Bart lowered his head and closed his eyes for just a moment. "No, Mr. Grayson, they aren't here." In the very back corner of the room someone stirred and pulled his hat further down over his eyes. No one noticed the faint flush of red that crept slowly up his cheeks.

"Alright, Mr. Maverick. One more thing. Why was it so important to you that the Sheriff find these men and bring them in?"

Would answering truthfully get him hung or set him free? He had to play the hand. "Because finding them is the only way I can prove I'm innocent. I know all the evidence is stacked against me. But I didn't kill Edgar Pike. One of those three did. I'm betting it was Rusty Meyers. And they're the men that framed me for his murder."

There was nothing left for Grayson to say after that. "No more questions, your Honor."

XXXXXXXX

"I want you to do something for me, Jody." Bart hadn't asked her for anything except her time when he was recovering from the beating, so she was surprised that he asked for something now. The trial was over; both sides had rested their cases. Everything was in Judge Kincaid's hands.

"What, Bartley?"

There was that darn name again. Why couldn't you just let it go at 'Bart', Pappy?

"I want you to promise that you'll do this before I tell you what it is."

She tossed her head like a young filly. "Phooey! How can I promise before I know what it is? What if it's something I don't want to do and I've already promised?"

She made Bart laugh. She always made Bart laugh, in a way that he hadn't experienced before meeting her. The way a sister would make him laugh. "Promise."

"Oh, alright. I promise that I'll do what you ask me to do."

They laughed again. He looked at her and knew he was doing the right thing. "If this goes the wrong way, and I don't get to stay around and watch you get married, I want you to take my share of 'The Three Mavericks' saloon. As yours. No questions asked."

She shook her head 'no' and there were tears in her eyes when she looked at him. "Don't you even say that, Bartley. You're going to be around for a long time. My children will climb all over you and make Uncle Bart wish he'd never met them!" She grabbed his hand and held it tight. "No, absolutely not. I take back my promise."

"Too late," he laughed at her unwillingness to face the possibility of a conviction. He wanted to be certain that she was provided for, if the worst happened. Bret would probably eventually sell his share of the saloon and Beau might actually settle down there with Jody's mother – at least until the wanderlust took possession of him again – and Bart needed to be sure that Jody had something of her own. He had talked to Hiram about a will, just in case. The only other possessions he had of any value were the cufflinks his mother left to him when she died, and those were for Bret.

"You made me a promise, Jody. You gave your word. A Maverick's word is their bond."

"I'm not a Maverick, Bartley."

"In everything but name, Jody." Bart pulled his hand away from her. "Time to go now. Beau will be here any minute and there's some things I need to tell him."

"Alright. You just remember what I said about my kids, Uncle Bartley."

He laughed once more. "I will. And I'll hold you to those kids."


	47. Chapter 47 The Verdict

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 47 – The Verdict

Pappy had moved into Bret's hotel room with Bart and Bret had transferred to Beau's room. Bart's progress inched its way forward, and this time there were no headaches or fevers or ringing in the ears. And, thank God, no blackouts. Whatever had continued to plague him after the initial beating seemed to have packed its bags and moved on; even his appetite came back a little at a time. The only thing that didn't go away was the nightmares. Pappy quickly learned that, most likely as not, Bart would wake up in a cold sweat sometime during the night. Sometimes he knew immediately upon waking that everything had been a dream, sometimes Pappy had to shake him until he was sure that Bart's insides would fall out. The most repetitive nightmare concerned, of course, death. Sometimes Pappy's, sometimes Bret's, sometimes Beau's, once or twice even Jody's. The most prevalent dream about death was, of course, his own.

He dreamt about the time he was shot in Dry Springs and the knifing he'd endured in that God forsaken town whose name he couldn't remember. The broken leg that almost resulted in his lynching in Woodstone and the time he'd been trail boss on a cattle drive through Arizona and his saddle slipped during a stampede and his horse had dragged him for nearly a mile before he got free. Over and over again, until he was almost afraid to go to sleep at night.

Judge Kincaid had been poring over the details of the case for three days. Twice he sent a messenger to Bart's room with additional questions; Bart answered them as best he could. Pappy fussed over him like a new born colt and Bart was about to go crazy with the attention. The only time he got any respite from Pappy's constant hovering was when Bret or Beau took him down to the saloon for an evening of poker.

Beauregard was a big hit at 'The Three Mavericks,' especially when word got around that he was one of the original three the place was named after. It did his heart good to hear everyone talk of Jessie with such high regard; he heard stories of her 'exploits' from most of the townsfolk. But he particularly loved the stories he heard from Georgia, as her best friend and partner in crime. In fact, he fell in love a little bit with Georgia herself. Until his nephew took him aside and had a heart to heart with Pappy about Miz Mayfield's availability. Beau expected to have his ears torn off when he expressed his intentions regarding the lady; Uncle Beauregard surprised everyone by slapping him on the back and congratulating him. As he told Bret, "That lady is a class act. Might do your cousin some real good to settle down with her." When Bret relayed the story to Bart, all he could do was look at Pappy in wonder and ask, "What have you done with my Pappy?"

On the evening of the third day word came from the hotel that Kincaid had reached a decision and everyone was to be in court at ten the next morning. Bart retired early; wondering if it was the last night he'd sleep in a real bed. Sheriff Bowman stood watch himself outside room 211; he wasn't taking any chances. Doc and Hiram had convinced Bret and Beau to delay going out to search for the gang; their reasoning being that if Bart was found 'not guilty' they didn't have to be the men to bring in the outlaws.

No one slept easy that night.

XXXXXXXX

Much to everyone's surprise there was a dusting of snow on the ground in the morning. Pappy stayed with Bret and Beau so that Bart wouldn't be disturbed when they came in after midnight. He was still up before either of 'the boys' and went back to Bart's room to help him get ready for court. It was everyone's intentions to dress like respectable citizens and not the itinerant gamblers they were. Georgia and Jody were at the hotel, waiting in the lobby, even though they wouldn't be welcome in the courtroom. Alvin was opening the saloon so Harry had escorted the ladies to the hotel and intended to be in court for the verdict. Doc Washburn joined everyone in the dining room drinking coffee in silence and waiting for Bart to come downstairs.

Finally he did, still leaning heavily on the cane and Pappy to negotiate the long climb down. And a climb it was; just because he was going down and not up certainly didn't make it any easier. When Bart was ready to leave the hotel everyone but the ladies went across the street to the courthouse. Georgia and Jody stayed in the hotel lobby praying for a 'not guilty' verdict.

Hiram Foster met them at the courthouse and everyone went inside. Sheriff Bowman had followed the Maverick group across the street at a discreet distance and he and Deputy Willis stood on the inside of the courthouse doors, guns drawn to fend off any last minute escape attempts. Bret and Beau warily scanned the crowd gathered to hear the verdict but didn't see anyone that appeared out of place. The man that sat in the corner on the last day of the trial wasn't there; another similar looking man had taken his place. He too kept his hat pulled low and didn't speak to anyone.

On this day Pappy sat with Bart at the defendant's table; Hiram thought it might be better for Bart to have his father alongside him. Again the cousin's sat behind the defendant and both wore their guns. Bret carried his Remington derringer in his hideout holster. They had been able to convince the judge on the last day of the trial to allow Jody to sit in the courtroom; since a decision was being handed down today she was barred from attending.

There was a low murmur in the room; most of the town held little or no regard for Edgar Pike and were sure that he was behind the attack that had started this string of events. The Mavericks had made a name for themselves in Silver Creek as fair, honest when they needed to be, and good men. The overall consensus was that they didn't want Bart found guilty; he'd been through more than enough and even if he committed the murder didn't need to be punished any further.

At precisely ten o'clock Judge Horace Kincaid entered the courtroom. He took his seat on the bench and began his summation. "Citizens of Silver Creek, this has been a complicated case and a complex decision. On the one hand we have a preponderance of physical evidence and on the other hand we have a massive sentiment. These are the facts in evidence:

Bart Maverick was pistol whipped and almost killed in April of last year.

The men responsible have been identified by the victim as Rusty Meyers and Pete and Jack Sanborn.

There is no substantiation of this evidence other than the word of the alleged victim.

No one has been able to produce said outlaws.

Edgar Pike was supposedly threatened with murder at his own front door by Mr. Maverick.

Mr. Pike was subsequently murdered in his own home by being shot to death and then beaten in the same manner as Mr. Maverick.

Mr. Maverick was found the morning after the murder in his room, fully dressed, and with the murder weapon and blood on both the gun and his hands. Also a photograph seen daily in Mr. Pike's home was found in Mr. Maverick's room.

Mr. Maverick cannot remember where he was at the time of the murder."

Judge Kincaid paused to let his restatement of the evidence sink in. Then he began again. "There is no doubt that Mr. Maverick was beaten within an inch of his life. Most likely the three men accused of the crime were the ones who executed it. Mr. Pike had made various statements to the effect that the Maverick family had no right to the saloon ownership; he maintained that as Jessie Maverick's common-law husband the property was his. A court in this state had already upheld the validity of the will and Mr. Pike knew he was defeated. It appears that Mr. Pike probably engaged the services of the three men in question to maim or kill one of the new owners of the saloon in question; although why Mr. Bart Maverick was attacked specifically we do not know. It may have been a crime of opportunity."

The Judge took a drink of water and continued. "There is no proof of any threat made by Mr. Maverick to Mr. Pike. No one saw or heard the alleged threat. There is, however, the disturbing evidence found in the accused's hotel room the morning after the crime was committed. A gun, blood, an overturned room, a picture belonging to the deceased were all recovered from said hotel room. As I stated at the beginning, a preponderance of physical evidence."

"Bart Maverick has suffered mightily through all of this; first with the initial attack and subsequently with the physical aftermath of that attack. It seems unfair to attempt to punish him any further, if he is guilty. However, the law is the law." The Judge turned his attention to Bart. "Mr. Maverick, please rise." Bart stood up, shakily, and Hiram Foster stood with him.

Then Judge Horace Kincaid issued his ruling. "Bart Maverick, due to the overwhelming physical evidence against you, I hereby find you guilty of the murder of Edgar Pike. You are to be hanged by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul." The gavel banged down noisily.


	48. Chapter 48 Four Aces

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 48 – Four Aces

An audible gasp from the courtroom. A father's anguished cry. An angry outburst from the brother. A pledge of loyalty from the cousin. A sly grin from a stranger. A shockwave that reverberated through the whole town. Quiet resignation from the convicted.

Mort Bowman holstered his gun and took out his hand cuffs. He walked over to the newly condemned man and slapped them on him. "Alright, Maverick, let's go." While Pappy wept, while Bret raged, while Beau started planning out the hunt for the outlaws in his head, the sheriff of Silver Creek, having been vindicated in his belief that the man was a murderer, practically dragged his prisoner out of the courtroom and back to jail. Deputy Willis followed behind with his gun drawn, ready to shoot anybody who got in the way.

Harry had run from the courtroom and down the street to the hotel lobby, where a woman's grief-stricken shriek of "Oh my God, no!" could be heard. Jody Mayfield came flying out the hotel doors and straight up the sidewalk, where she practically tackled the prisoner and threw her arms around him. She made little whimpering sounds and tears streamed down her face. "No no no no no no no," continued in a steady litany from her and Bowman's attempts to disengage her from his charge proved futile. In frustration he told Bart, "Get her to turn loose or I'll arrest her and put her in the cell next to yours."

In the gentlest of voices Bart told her, "Jody, let go." He had to repeat it twice before she finally unwrapped herself and stood aside, still whimpering and crying. The sheriff shoved Maverick forward roughly and then had to keep him from falling. They proceeded slowly to the jail and entered it, leaving her alone on the sidewalk until her mother appeared and wrapped her in a fiercely protective embrace.

Bret collapsed into his seat and looked at Pappy. He'd never seen his father cry, yet big tears rolled down the elder Maverick's cheeks. "My boy, my boy," Beauregard kept repeating over and over and shaking his head. Bret reached out and grasped his father's arm. "Steady, Pappy," he offered, "we'll get him out." Pappy frowned at his oldest son. "How?" and Bret answered "Any way we can."

Hiram Foster sank into his chair in complete disbelief. How? What? True, there was evidence that suggested Edgar Pike had been killed by Bart Maverick. But enough to find him guilty? And be sentenced to hang? 'A miscarriage of justice' didn't begin to describe the verdict that he'd just heard from Kincaid's lips. How could this happen? He sat there in stunned silence for a moment and then his legal mind started working. The only way he could see out of this was to put Bret and Beau's plan into action - the plan where the battle became Mavericks vs. Meyers.

Beau stood up and took Bret by the shoulder. "Come on, let's get Uncle Beau back to the hotel."

It took Bret a minute to register Beau's advice. "Pappy, come with us." He gently persuaded his father to stand and walk out of the courtroom, a Maverick progeny on either side of him. The crowd parted to allow their exit.

The stranger, unseen by the crowd or the Mavericks, left shortly thereafter. Maybe now that everything was decided, his brother would leave this town willingly and never come back. That was his most fervent wish. Get away from the so-called friend who was nothing more than a sadistic killer and go make a new life somewhere. There was only one problem. In the back of his mind he couldn't quite let go of the fact that an innocent man had just been convicted of a murder that their 'friend' had committed.

XXXXXXXX

Bart looked around the walls of the cell and found them unchanged. He'd hoped against hope that he would never see those particular walls again, but a small voice in the back of his head kept whispering 'guilty' to him, and he wasn't surprised to hear Judge Kincaid pronounce the same. He was calm, clear, unafraid at this exact moment. It all seemed like one of the many nightmares he'd had over and over, just waiting to hear the word enunciated out loud.

Thank God the sheriff had decided to take off the hand cuffs once they were back in the jail; it was hard enough to walk with the cane, much less without it. Even though there wasn't much walking room in the cell Bart still needed it for balance. A vision of him having to use the cane to climb the stairs to the gallows crossed his mind and he wondered just how long it would take to build his instrument of demise. Two or three days, he thought. Was that how long he had left to live?

He sat down on the now familiar cot and contemplated the length of time it would take Bret and Beau to find Rusty Meyers. Would they locate him before or after the hanging? Would he live to see his name cleared or would he end up as just another innocent man wrongly executed? He sighed and shook his head. There was no sense worrying about an event over which he had no control.

There were voices out front and what sounded like a commotion. Within seconds Bret and Beau came storming around the corner with Mort Bowman in hot pursuit. "Don't any of you people have any respect for authority?" he shouted.

Bret turned to him in anger. "Show me some authority I should respect and I will." Beau grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the lawman that was more than eager to have the Maverick brothers in side by side jail cells.

"Easy, Cousin Bret. We've got a job to do and we need to be outside of a cell in order to do it."

Bret attempted to regain his composure and looked at his cousin gratefully. "You're right, Beau, and I apologize. Bart, we're heading out now to track Meyers and the Sanborns. Have you thought of anything else you can tell us about them?"

Bart rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd seen his brother disgusted, embarrassed, amused, scheming and madly 'in love,' but he'd never seen him as angry and out of control. He stalled for time, giving Bret the minutes he needed to calm down. "No, not really, but I have to tell you – you'll think I'm crazy."

That forced a laugh out of Bret. Here Bart stood in a jail cell, wrongfully convicted and sentenced to death, and he was concerned about being perceived as crazy. Bret had seen his brother crazy and this didn't qualify.

"I know you're crazy, so don't worry about it. What is it?"

Bart was still hesitant to explain. "Well, I got the feeling that we were being watched."

Beau wanted more information. "Being watched how? Where? When?"

"Slow down there, Beau. I'm not sure how to explain it – like there was someone in court that didn't belong keepin' an eye on all of us."

"It's not just you. I had the same feeling," Bret weighed in again. "Like maybe there was a Sanborn around somewhere payin' close attention."

Right about then Bowman decided this conversation had gotten too strange even for him. "Since you all are not even supposed to be in here, you've got five minutes to get out." He turned his back on them and returned to the front of the jail. Enough with the crazy people.

"Bout time he left." Bret was not the only one happy to see the sheriff go.

"Any way you can figure to take me with you?" Bart asked.

"Brother Bart, even if we could get you out of here there's no way you can sit a horse." The elder of the brothers let out a small chuckle. "You're in charge of the gallows building. Make sure they do it right so it'll hold Meyers when we bring him back. Remember, short rope, long drop." Then he turned serious. He put his hand on Bart's, which was resting on the jail cell bars. "You stay put and get your strength back. We've got a murderer to catch." He turned to his cousin. "Come on, Beau, let's ride."

Beau fingered the brim of his hat. "We'll get him, Bart. We won't let you down."

"Better not, Cousin. I still owe you five hundred dollars."

They departed and left Bart behind once again. Right now he was happy to see them go; it was exhausting to try and keep up with them. He needed to sit down and rest - it had been a difficult morning. He sat on the cot for several minutes, waiting to see what emotion would set in once his head cleared and he was fully cognizant of the death sentence he'd received. Fear, shock, anger, something? As time passed he realized that he was devoid of feeling anything right now. Maybe relief. There was no more ambiguity; it was all cut and dried. Find the outlaws – live. Don't find the outlaws – die. He'd finally laid his cards on the table and he had four aces – would it be enough to win the hand?


	49. Chapter 49 Heading North

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 49 – Heading North

They left the jail and they left the town. Bret and Beau headed for the dilapidated cabin that Bret discovered when he was looking for evidence some weeks back. It didn't take them long to find it, and from all indications it had accommodated visitors recently. No way of telling who or how many, but there were fresh boot prints on the floor and wood had been burned in the stove. Bret was a Galvanized Yankee Tracker the last moments of the Civil War and he was able to follow the trail without too much trouble. The people they were trailing were challenging anyone to find them. Once Bret got a good look at the trail he realized that a lot of time was spent going around in circles, no doubt to confuse whoever was pursuing them. No wonder Mort and the posse hadn't been able to track the outlaws.

They followed the trail until it grew too dark to do so any further. They'd been around Silver Creek several times, back down through the North Woods and eventually out past Bondall's Meadow. More than once a single rider had broken off from the group and headed back towards town. Eventually the rider rejoined the others and moved on with them. Beau agreed that it seemed the Maverick brothers' intuition that they were being watched was correct. They were about fifteen miles from the town of Silver Creek when they camped for the night, headed towards Placerville. Both brought an extra blanket so they could avoid making a fire in the dark, when it would be easier to spot them. Cold beans weren't the most appealing meal on the planet but neither cared much for food right now, anyway. The only things they were focused on were named Meyers and Sanborn.

Bret missed his brother. Even though he and Beau spent more time together since Bart was imprisoned than they had in a long while and had grown closer than ever over the past few weeks, it didn't feel the same. Bart had exactly the same blood in his veins, and even though they were very different men, in many ways they were very much alike. He missed the kinship they shared, often finishing each other's thoughts when one or the other of them had some kind of scheme going. Had they lost that closeness with Bart's extended illness? Would they ever be able to get it back? One thing was certain - in order to maintain those ties, Bret had to find Meyers. He was convinced Meyers was, indeed, the killer and the Sanborns were more or less 'tag alongs.'

He and Beau would be up and on their way at first light. Their time was growing ever shorter, and if this failed they had a jail break to plan.

XXXXXXXX

The rest of the afternoon in the jail was quiet and Bart got some much needed rest. Along towards evening Georgia brought dinner and elected to stay and drink coffee with him. It was welcome respite from the two emotional basket cases that she'd spent the day tending to.

"How is Pappy?" Bart asked when he'd finished eating.

"For a man in his position, I'd say he's doing fairly well," was her thoughtful reply.

"A man in his position?"

"You know. You and everything."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess it would be hard." Bart hadn't thought about that aspect of the situation until now.

Georgia snorted in disgust. "Hard? You'll never know what hard is until you have a child of your own. When they get hurt, you hurt. When they suffer, you suffer. When one of them gets sentenced to hang - you get the picture."

"What do you do?" Bart seemed genuinely interested.

"Whatever you have to do. To stop the hurt, to ease the pain, to stop the hanging."

"Hmmmmm. It must be grueling."

"It's the hardest thing on earth, to see your child suffering and not be able to fix it. The only thing harder is to see your child die."

That one hit really close to home. What Pappy must be going through! "Georgia, if I ask you to do something for me would you try to do it?"

"Of course, Bart! Whatever you need."

"This is awkward . . . . everything I told you about Caroline and the marriage?"

"Yes?"

"Pappy doesn't know any of that."

"You never told him?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I couldn't talk about it to anyone. I haven't even told Bret some of the things I told you. If I get hung . . . . . " the construction on the gallows had already started. What he was asking Georgia to do wouldn't be easy, and he knew it wasn't fair. But Pappy would take it a whole lot calmer if he heard about it from Jessie's partner, a woman he had come to know and admire. If Bret was smart he'd never tell Pappy that he knew any of it . . . . . .

"Of course," she answered quietly. "But why didn't you let him know? Surely it would have been comforting to know you could talk to him about it?"

"No," was his quick reply. "Pappy isn't the most reasonable person I've ever known. Once we were grown and out on our own he was pretty much done with the father thing. He was there if we needed him but he let us know that his parenting days were over. I figured he'd have the 'you made your own bed, now lie in it' attitude. And there was the promise I'd broken."

"What promise?"

"The one where Bret and I promised not to marry until we were thirty-eight years old. Why he picked that age I don't now but we did promise him."

Georgia had to laugh. "That sounds exactly like a father to me."

Bart laughed a little with her. "Maybe you're right."

"You do know how much your father loves you and your brother, don't you?"

He considered that question for a moment. "I never thought about it. I'm sure he does, but . . . . "

"There are no 'buts' about it. He's upstairs in Bret's hotel room right now agonizing over what happened this morning. As far as he's concerned if you die, he dies."

"MY Pappy? We are talking about Beauregard Maverick, aren't we?"

"Is that so hard for you to believe?"

"Yes."

She wanted to understand his reasons. "Why?'

"Because Pappy is . . . . . . Pappy," Bart stated. "That's the only way I can put it. It's just not something I would expect from the man that raised me."

"It's true. He might not show you that side but it's there. I ought to know." Her voice got very quiet suddenly. "I've got a daughter sitting up there with him that's falling to pieces."

"And it's killing you, isn't it?" He'd gotten very wise in a hurry.

"Yes, it is. The thought of losing you is tearing her apart just like it's tearing Beauregard apart. And there's not much I can do for either of them."

He stood up and braced his weight against the bars. "Sure there is. You can go be with them. I take it they're together?"

"Oh yes, they make a fine pair."

"Then go to them, Georgia. Go take care of them. I can't do that, but you can. And they're both going to need you in case . . . . . "

She wouldn't let him finish the thought. "No. Don't even consider that."

"One more thing before you go." Pause. "I have a will made out. Hiram has it. Would you see that it gets taken care of?"

"Won't Hiram do that?"

"Yes, but Jody won't want to abide by it. I left my ownership of 'The Three Mavericks' to her."

There was silence in the jail for a moment and Bart thought Georgia was unhappy with him. "Did I do something wrong?"

When she looked at him she had tears in her eyes. "No, son, you did nothing wrong. Does Jody know?"

"I told her last night."

Ah, that answered a lot of questions. Why Jody was so late getting home. Why she was so upset. Why she kept talking to herself and insisting 'she wouldn't take it.' What kind of a man was this? On the verge of being wrongly convicted for a crime he didn't commit and worrying about her daughter. With no agenda of his own; nothing to gain by being selfless; just wanting to make things right for Jody. If this was the last request he ever made of her, who was she to deny it? "Yes, Bart, I'll see to it that your wishes are honored."

XXXXXXXX

Cold and clear and bright and light, Beau and Bret took the chance of a small fire in the morning and made coffee. They were lucky it hadn't snowed more during the night; and grateful. Bret had been up before dawn and followed the tracks north for a while before returning to camp. They were definitely headed towards Placerville. That meant they were leaving the Silver Creek area and the Mavericks were running out of chances to catch them. There was only one way through the canyons to Placerville unless they sliced across dense forest and undergrowth and cut back into the road on the other side of Boones Ridge. If Bret and Bart took the 'shortcut' they could beat the outlaws to Placerville. But if the gang deviated from the road and went to Shanksville instead, Bret and Beau could miss them entirely. They drank coffee hurriedly and planned their courses; Bret would take the route to Placerville and Beau to Shanksville. They doused the fire, mounted their horses and rode.


	50. Chapter 50 A Bullet for the Gun

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 50 – A Bullet for the Killer

Bret rode like his life depended on it, rather than his brother's. By the time he rejoined the road to Placerville on the other side of Boone's Ridge he was following one horse instead of three and the tracks were fresh. Whichever of the gang he was chasing wasn't far ahead of him, maybe half an hour by the look of the tracks. Once he got to the town he was hoping it would be easy to spot the worn out horse.

Placerville was a quiet town that was just starting to grow up and expand. They had a livery, a boarding house, a saloon, a barber and a small café. Most of the homesteaders were farmers rather than cattlemen and the town had a whole different feel to it.

Bret followed the dusty little main street down to the livery. There were no horses tied to any of the hitching rails in the street, so that left him with no choice. The livery owner was just shoeing a horse and stopped to answer Bret's questions. "Sure, that big bay stallion down at the end there just come in about half an hour ago. Tall young fella ridin' him. Name's Sanborn. Went over to the saloon. Wearin' a dusty brown jacket and a brown hat. You a friend a his?"

"Not exactly. Wearin' brown, you said?"

"Yep. Said he was expectin' his brother later today. You ain't him, are ya?"

"Nope, just an acquaintance. Thanks for the information." Bret went out the back of the livery and tied his horse there. No sense being obvious. He walked around to main street and into the café, right across the street from the saloon. He took a table by the window and waited.

XXXXXXXX

Beau had a hard ride to get anywhere near the two remaining outlaws. Shanksville was bigger than Placerville and held mostly cattlemen and ranchers. And there were two saloons instead of one.

He wasted no time going straight to the sheriff. Yes, Sheriff McNally knew who Rusty Meyers was. He'd been in Shanksville before and gotten thrown in jail for a bar fight. No, the sheriff hadn't seen him recently. Beau told McNally the whole story and was almost finished when a deputy came running in to the office. "Sheriff, there's been a incident over at the Golden Dollar saloon. Young fella over there's been killed, friend of Rusty Meyers. They need you right away."

Dead? Friend of Meyers? Did that mean Rusty was at the Golden Dollar? And was the dead man a Sanborn? "Mr. Maverick, I think you better wait here. Let me go see what this is all about. I'll come back and let you know."

So Beau bided his time at the jail while the sheriff and deputy went back over to the Golden Dollar to investigate. He was sick of jails.

XXXXXXXX

Bret sat in the café for over an hour and there was no sign of anyone coming or going into the saloon. After his third cup of coffee he finally broke down and ordered a sandwich just to continue occupying his vantage point at the window. Late morning turned to afternoon turned to dusk and still nothing. Bret couldn't wait any longer and knew he had to do something. Either the Sanborn in the saloon was very, very drunk by now or there was a back way out and he'd given Bret the slip; it was time to find out which was true. He paid his check, left the poor waitress a good tip and headed across the street. He pulled his hat down in front, opposite of the way he usually wore it, and slouched into the bar. He needn't have worried; whichever Sanborn it was, he sat slumped at a table by himself with only an empty whiskey bottle and a glass to keep him company. He was either asleep or passed out. Bret sat down at the table to wait him out.

XXXXXXXX

It was more than an hour later when Sheriff McNally came back to the jail. Beau was watching out the window and saw another man with him; not knowing what the hunted man looked like Beau found an unlocked jail cell, slipped inside and slumped back against the wall, with his hat pulled over his eyes. Good move, he soon discovered as the sheriff and the stranger entered. It didn't take long for Beau to learn that this was, indeed, Rusty Meyers. Since there was no arrest warrant for Meyers, Beau was forced to play it out legally.

"Sorry about your friend, Meyers," McNally told him as he offered a chair next to his desk. "Just help me with a few questions and you can be on your way. "What was his name again?"

"Sanborn," Rusty replied. "Pete Sanborn. We stopped here for a drink and then were ridin' on to Placerville. Supposed to meet his brother Jack there. Damn shame. He was a good kid." He shook his head to emphasize the loss.

"Yeah, well, good kids don't draw a gun on local ranchers. If he hadn't done that he might not be dead."

"Well, Sheriff, everybody makes mistakes. Just that this one cost him. Guess I'll have to go tell his brother."

McNally shook his head. "Here's your gun back. Hasn't been fired, so I guess your version is right." The sheriff handed a gun back to Meyers and Beau watched from under his hat. That's when he saw it – the gun handed back to the outlaw had an intricately cut black diamond pattern on the grip. Bart's gun! So Bret was right; Rusty Meyers had killed Edgar Pike.

Meyers holstered Bart's gun and stood up. "Thanks, McNally. I'll take the body with me to Placerville to see what Jack wants done with it." Unexpectedly he shook the sheriff's hand and left the jail. Beau emerged quickly from the cell.

"Sheriff McNally, that gun you handed back to Meyers – "

The sheriff cut him off. "I know, son, it matches your description. Guess I have to arrest him after all."

Beau stopped the sheriff from leaving. "I have a better idea."

XXXXXXXX

Bret sat with Jack Sanborn for quite a while before the drunken man began to stir. Maverick checked his derringer to make sure it was loaded, then pulled his .45 and set it in the table. Bret kicked Sanborn in the leg and brought him back to life – or, at least, consciousness.

"Wake up, Jack, it's time to have a little chat."

"Mmmmmm, no. Who are you?" Sanborn finally attempted to raise his head, open his eyes and squint at Bret. "Maverick?"

"Yep. One of 'em. The one you didn't try to get hung." Bret's voice was low and steady. He had to play this hand carefully and get Jack to talk while he still could.

Gravity won out and Sanborn's head sank back onto his arm. Bret reached over, grabbed the back of his neck, and shook as hard as he could. A low moan escaped from Jack's lips.

"Ohhh, stop it. STOP IT!"

Bret finally stopped shaking and let go. He picked up the .45 and noisily cocked the gun. "We need to discuss your friend Mr. Meyers."

Jack would have shaken his head 'no' but it hurt too much. "Not my friend. Pete's. Never liked the man."

Strong as the temptation to tie Jack Sanborn to a horse and drag him back to Silver Creek immediately was, Bret thought he should try to get as much information out of him as possible. He grabbed Sanborn by the back of the neck again and shook some more.

Once again Jack responded negatively. "STOP! Not here. Won't talk here. Stable. Need horse. Get out of town. Quick. Before he comes to kill me."

Bret assumed the 'he' that Jack referenced was Meyers. He yanked Jack's head back up. "Alright, not here. We'll discuss him at the stable. Are you gonna walk by yourself or am I gonna drag you there?"

"Walk." Of course he meant with a lot of help. Bret had to half support, half drag Jack with him out the door of the saloon and back through the livery. Once they got there it was a matter of time to saddle the bay stallion and get Sanborn mounted. Bret led the horse outside to his own mare and swung up into the saddle, still in control of Sanborn's horse. They headed slowly out of town, south towards Shanksville, until they reached a small wooded area that looked fairly well hidden from the road. Bret rode into the brush and dismounted, securing both horses to a nearby tree. Jack half-slid down from his horse, still on the edge of 'out-of-control-drunk.' Bret had no sympathy for him at all.

Sanborn stumbled across a log and then sat on it. "Cold," he announced. Bret started a fire, hoping to get some answers before the effect of the whiskey wore completely off.

"Tell me more about Rusty Meyers."

Jack shook his head 'no.' The desire to avoid the subject of Rusty Meyers was stronger than the desire to not feel pain from shaking his head. Bret repeated himself. "Tell me about Rusty Meyers."

"No. No good. Not a friend. Mean. Nasty. Gonna get us all killed."

"How is he gonna get us all killed?"

Sanborn stared at the fire. "Hung. Hung. Just like that poor Maverick in Silver whatever. Get us all hung for somethin' he did."

Bret was losing patience. It wasn't easy to have a discussion with a drunken man who was just beginning to develop a conscience. "What did he do, Jack? What's he gonna get us all hung for?" Bret paused for a moment when he heard a twig snap. Then a rabbit came running past the fire and he continued. "Why are we gonna get hung, Jack?"

"Cause we didn't kill Maverick like we were supposed to. Had to beat him instead a just shootin' him. Then he went back and finished Pike. Framed an innocent man." He turned his attention to the only audience he had, Bret. "And Pete and me was stupid. We helped."

"You helped? What did you help with, Jack? What happened?" He was trying everything he knew to get Jack Sanborn to admit the whole scheme. He needed to hear every word spoken so he could convince Sanborn to repeat it all in front of the Judge.

"Are you dense? Rusty killed Pike himself. Framed Maverick for it. Why you wanna know, anyway?" Jack staggered to his feet, wobbly and perturbed.

From the woods behind them came a voice. "Because he's a Maverick, you idiot!"

A shot rang out just as Jack started to fall forward. The shot, intended to kill him, pierced his left shoulder instead. He dropped to the ground in front of Bret. Rusty Meyers stepped out of the dense brush and pointed Bart's gun at Bret. "Shoulda killed all you damn Mavericks when I had the chance, stead a havin' to do it one at a time." He aimed for Bret's heart. "Good-bye, 'Brother Bret.'"

Another shot, this one not from Bart's gun. Further back in the brush than Meyers, Sheriff McNally stepped out, Beau behind him. A startled look came over Meyers face as he dropped the gun and then he himself dropped, mere feet from where Jack Sanborn lay. One was alive and the other dead. Bret looked from Beau to the sheriff and back again. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough, Mr. Maverick," came McNally's reply. "Enough to set your brother free."


	51. Chapter 51 Sweet Caroline

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 51 – Sweet Caroline

Somehow he found it fascinating, to watch your own gallows being built. What else did he have to do? It made him laugh, the absurdity of the situation. 'Gallows humor' was as good a name as any. He'd accepted the fact that no one was coming to rescue him, despite everyone's assurance to the contrary. If Bret and Beau were able to find Rusty Meyers in time, they would have been here by now. Even if they located him there was no reason to believe he would admit to anything. Why would he put his neck in a noose to save Bart? He'd already tried to kill him once.

Pappy came to see him in the afternoon. It was an awkward meeting at first, probably their last meeting. Georgia came with him but didn't come back to the cell; she tried to give them the father-son talk she thought they needed. Pappy brought over the 'visiting chair' and sat with his youngest son. They talked about little, odd things at first; Bart's first horseback ride, why he learned to cheat at cards faster than Bret, who was really responsible for the pig's running away, his first kiss with little Susie Whitmore, and on until they couldn't think of anything else. Then the subject came up that Pappy had hoped never to discuss – where Bart wanted to be buried and why.

"Dry Springs is in New Mexico, Pappy."

"Why, Bart? Why there and not in Little Bend where your Momma is?"

"I have my reasons." Why couldn't Pappy just let this go? The last thing Bart wanted to do was admit to Pappy that he'd been lied to. By Bart. For a long time.

"No." As far as Pappy was concerned the subject was closed. This was no time to be arguing with your youngest son over where he wanted to be buried, especially when there was no good reason for it.

"It's not your decision, Pappy, it's mine."

Stubborn boy. "Yes, but I'll be the one makin' it after you're gone."

No more stubborn than his own father. "No, you won't. I left a will. Bret's in charge."

Now Pappy was perturbed. "Your brother. Why?"

This whole conversation was absurd, Bart realized. WHY WOULDN'T PAPPY LET IT GO? "Because he'll do what I asked."

"WHY, BARTLEY?"

Bart sighed and owned up to the truth. "Because my wife is buried there."

The only sound in the entire jail was the sound of Bart's breathing. Well, Pappy wanted the reason, he got the reason. Then, out of nowhere, a small admission. "I know."

Bart stood up and leaned into the bars of the cell. "You know?"

Pappy hung his head a bit, slightly embarrassed. 'Yes, son, I know."

"And you made me tell you anyway?"

Now it was Beauregard's turn to be upset. "I'm your father!"

Bart almost laughed at that one. "Never mattered before."

"Have some respect, young man. It always mattered." Pappy cleared his throat and started over. "Your brother told me."

"When?" No answer. "WHEN?"

If it was humanly possible for Pappy to get quieter, he did. "When you disappeared for six months."

'_All this time,_' Bart thought, _'He's known all this time.' _"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wasn't any reason to tell you. Not until now."

"And you let me go on feeling guilty that I lied to you by not telling you the truth?"

"Well, you did."

Bart stood there and looked at his father while he digested that thought. Pappy crossed his legs and acted like nothing had just happened. The silence was finally broken with the question "Did you love her?"

Long moments passed and Beauregard didn't think he was going to get an answer. Then he did. "Not at first."

"And at the end?"

Again a long stretch of silence. "Yes." Defiantly. "I did."

"Did she know that?"

"I think she did."

"Her name?"

"Caroline. Caroline Crawford Maverick."

"One more thing, boy. Would you have stayed with her if she'd lived?"

That's the one question he'd never asked himself. Because the answer was unimportant – until now. "As long as she'd have me."

Pappy rose from the chair. He reached through the bars to grasp his son's hand. "Then I'm truly sorry, boy." There were tears in Pappy's eyes. "I know exactly how you feel."

XXXXXXXX

It took some time for Bret, Beau and Sheriff McNally to get everything straightened out. They tied Rusty's body across his horse and patched up Jack as best they could before riding back to Shanksville. There the doctor tended to the wounded outlaw and the undertaker took possession of Meyers body. As soon as Jack was patched up the sheriff got a wagon and loaded the prisoner. After Jack Sanborn was told about his brother's death he was more than willing to go back to Silver Creek and testify about everything that had really happened. Now it was a race against the clock. The hanging was set for ten a.m. and Bret and Beau had no intention of letting the youngest Maverick swing. If the wagon couldn't get there in time it was up to the Mavericks to delay the proceedings until the sheriff and the proof could arrive.

XXXXXXXX

The sun didn't come up but the sky lightened. Bart was up before the roosters crowed, having lain awake most of the night. Difficult to sleep through your last night on earth. He'd said his good-byes to Pappy yesterday afternoon, and done the same to Georgia, Doc and Hiram. Harry brought his final dinner and told Bart how well things were running and how much he would be missed. He promised to help 'Miz' Jody in any way he could, just as he'd done all those years for her mother and 'Miz' Jessie. There was only one more person left to see this morning and he was dreading that final meeting. Jody.

He remembered the first time they'd met and she'd 'fainted' in his arms. What a little firecracker she turned out to be! The sister he never had, the best friend she'd become, the person he most needed to protect from the world. How could he tell her good-bye?

But he had to. The last thing he wanted was for her to watch him hang. He'd made Georgia promise that when it was time for him to go, she would take Jody home; away from the sights and sounds of his death. He knew what a heavy burden that would place on her mother, but it had to be done. He needed to be at peace, and to know that she was, and neither of them would be if she stayed. So he'd agreed to one last good-bye if she would promise to go quietly when the time came. He paced his cell as best he could, still leaning heavily on the cane to walk, and laughed again at the thought of needing help to ascend the stairs.

And then it was time, and Jody came. She was beautiful today, her long red hair brushed to a high shine, her pale blue eyes bright as the sun that hadn't shone its face, dressed in a pretty dark purple dress he'd never seen before. She walked in quietly, rather than bounding in like she usually did, knowing full well and good she'd not greet him in the morning any more. "Good morning, Bartley. I wanted to prove to you that I could act like a lady. So here I am . . . . . " That was as far as she got before bursting into tears. She leaned her head against the cell bars and wept. "It's . . . not . . . fair . . . it's . . . not . . . right . . . it's . . . not . . . "

He made his way to her and held her as best he could through the bars. Her body continued to shake with sobs long after she stopped making any noise. He kept her in his embrace until she grew quiet, not wanting to let her go for the last time. Finally he heard them testing the gallows trap door outside and knew. He raised her chin with one hand and continued to hold her with the other. "Remember your promise to me." She looked at him questioningly and he reminded her. "About the saloon. And the babies."

She didn't trust her mouth to form words. She nodded her head 'yes.'

"Tell them all about their Uncle Bartley. And make sure Beau spoils them rotten."

She nodded again, 'yes.'

He stood straight and let go of her. "It's time to go."

She sounded just like Pappy as she simply said "No."

"Jody, you promised."

"I don't care. I un-promise."

"No good, girl. No such word."

She lowered her eyes to the ground. "I know." Then in a very tiny voice she whispered "I love you, Bartley."

"I know, Jody. I love you, too.' There it was, finally. The last good-bye.

XXXXXXXX

The traveling was going even slower than expected. The wagon hit every rock and bump along the road and Jack was in considerable pain, so Sheriff McNally took it exceedingly slow. Finally Bret and Beau realized that the caravan wasn't going to make it to Silver Creek by ten o'clock and that it was best that Bret ride on ahead to stop everything until they arrived. They debated momentarily whether Beau should go with him but decided to stay with Sheriff McNally. Bret took off like a bat out of hell and rode as hard and fast as he could. Like his brother's life was at stake.

XXXXXXXX

A few minutes before ten Sheriff Mort Bowman walked into the back end of the Silver Creek Jail and unlocked the cell door that held his prisoner. Deputy Willis stood with a shotgun at the turn to the cells and watched to make sure that nothing went wrong. The sheriff had every intention of following normal procedure and handcuffing Maverick's hands behind his back but realized at the last minute that the prisoner still needed to lean on his cane to walk to the gallows. He cuffed him in front instead. He'd taken men to the gallows before and most of them were scared to death. Some begged and pleaded, some cried and wept, some refused to walk and literally had to be dragged. Bart Maverick did none of those; standing straight and tall he simply said nothing and walked directly in front of the sheriff with no hesitation. As soon as they got outside the jail the gallows loomed over everything like a giant vulture hanging in the sky. Mort walked Maverick to the bottom step and un-cuffed his hands, then re-cuffed them behind him. The whole town was gathered at the gallows base to watch this latest execution, which no one agreed with. Judge Kincaid and Albie Grayson stood on the platform itself, next to the actual 'short rope, long drop' trap door, along with Hiram Foster and Doc Washburn. He saw Harry, trying his best to hold up Pappy, who looked like he would pass out at any moment. Alvin stood next to him. Lettie was there, crying, along with the little redhead he'd never gotten to know. Sammy from the telegraph office and Burt Felton from the JP Ranch were in the crowd, and Bart was surprised at how many faces he recognized. Guess he was gonna give them one last show.

Mort had learned his lesson about forcing an unsteady man to hurry when he wasn't capable of it, and he actually helped Bart ascend the first three stairs. The crowd was still and quiet, unlike they normally were at a hanging, and it was easy to hear the horse come thundering over the last hill before the turn into town. The rider was hooping and hollering for all he was worth, waving his hat and screaming at the top of his lungs, "STOP! STOP! WE CAUGHT HIM! STOP! "

Bart had never been happier to see his brother in his entire life.


	52. Chapter 52 Snap, Crackle, Pop

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 52 – Snap, Crackle, Pop

Bret brought his horse to a skidding stop at the foot of the newly erected gallows. He slid out of the saddle and had to peel Pappy off of him. He ran up the bottom three steps of the gallows and hugged his brother, who was still hand cuffed behind his back. Then he continued up the steps until he reached Judge Kincaid.

"Your Honor, my Cousin Beau is escorting a wagon containing Sheriff McNally of Shanksville and Jack Sanborn. They'll be here within the hour. Rusty Meyers and Pete Sanborn died yesterday; Pete got himself killed in a gunfight. Jack was shot by Meyers and wounded; Sheriff McNally killed Meyers."

"While that's all very interesting, Mr. Maverick, what does it prove?" Albie Grayson was not letting his conviction go without a fight.

"Jack Sanborn spilled the whole story before he was shot. Sheriff McNally heard it all. Meyers is the one who killed Edgar Pike, not my brother."

Judge Kincaid looked at Bret carefully. "And Sanborn is ready to testify to that?"

"Yes, Your Honor, he is. And Sheriff McNally witnessed it all. That's why they're on their way here."

The judge walked over to the top of the stairs and looked down at Bowman and the prisoner. "Sheriff, take Mr. Maverick back to the jail while we get this all settled. And take those handcuffs off him. The hanging is hereby cancelled."

Sheriff Bowman did as he was told without protest. Bret came back down the steps and hugged Bart again. This time the hug was reciprocated. Both wore big smiles on their faces. Bart leaned in to Bret's ear and whispered, "You could have gotten here a few minutes sooner."

Bret's answer - "I did my best, Brother Bart, I did my best" was heard only by his brother. Before anything else could be said or done Bowman had marched Bart back to the jail, at least this time without the handcuffs. Bret and Pappy embraced, and Harry ran off to the saloon to tell Georgia and Jody the news. For once the crowd was pleased to have missed out on the spectacle.

Slowly everyone disbursed; all of the men assembled on the gallows platform descended, some to celebrate, others to ponder the next steps to be taken in the legal process. Bret and Pappy returned to the jail to claim their prize – the soon to be released youngest Maverick. By the time they got there Jody and Georgia had beaten them to it and there was another round of hugs and kisses. Mort saw no sense in keeping Bart in a cell; it was obvious the sheriff had been wrong and he was willing to admit it.

A little over an hour later the caravan from Shanksville arrived. Jack Sanborn told the whole story to Judge Kincaid, Albie Grayson and Sheriff Bowman. Sheriff McNally verified everything and Bart Maverick was officially released from custody, cleared of all charges. Georgia, Jody and Beau planned a big celebration at the saloon for nine o'clock that night. Bart went back to the hotel with Pappy and got a new room; Alvin went to the saloon to fetch Bart's personal possessions. Once he returned them to their rightful owner each went their separate ways; Pappy claimed Bret's old room as his own, Bret stayed on in Beau's and Beau moved his belongings to one of the offices at 'The Three Mavericks.' At least until he and Georgia had a chance to talk. Everyone was so overjoyed at the unforeseen chain of events that no one minded when Bart pleaded for some much needed time to rest and recuperate. It was later at the hotel that Jody finally got a chance to see her newly exonerated 'brother' for a private conversation. She knocked softly at the door to his new room and heard him call, "Jody, is that you?"

"Yes sir, it certainly is. May I come in?" She was bouncing from foot to foot in the hallway, she was so excited.

The door opened and he was standing there, his arms outstretched. "Faint away, my lady."

She feigned another collapse and he caught her, both of them laughing so hard that he almost dropped her. He stood her back up and closed the door behind her as she entered, a definite step up from his original room. This one was more like a suite, with a separate parlor area. Jody looked around and remarked, "Must be nice to have such a fancy room." They laughed again and sat down.

"I think the hotel felt bad for me. Upscale room at no extra charge. All I had to do was almost get hung."

She stopped laughing when he said that. "That was much too close, Bartley. I was sure I'd lost you."

"Well, you didn't," he replied. "Thank God Bret and Beau did what they set out to do. Some relatives, huh? I suppose I owe them now?"

"Yes, you do. I owe them, too. Who would have walked me down the aisle?"

"Oh, a certain lad with an accent comes to mind." He paused and got serious. "Beau and your mother? Anything happening there?"

Jody looked out the window, which had a breathtaking view of the snowcapped mountains. "I don't know. He told me he was going to marry her but I don't think he's asked her yet."

"Would she marry him?" Bart hesitated to ask but if anybody knew what Georgia was thinking it was her daughter.

"I don't know. I know she loves him, but beyond that . . . . " Several minutes passed as they sat together, pleased that there were no bars between them. Finally Bart had something he wanted her to know.

"Change of subject. I want you to take my share of the saloon."

"But you're alive," she protested.

"That's just the point. I'm alive, Jody. It's going to take me a while to put all this behind me. I need to be free to heal at my own pace, not because I've got obligations to keep."

She frowned as she realized what he was saying. "You're going to leave, aren't you?"

"In a while, yes. I wrote to a friend of mine and I'm going to spend some time with her while I get my strength back. She's been after me to come visit and I think it's a good idea."

"She?"

"Someone I've known for a long time. She's in New Mexico. She's the cousin of someone . . . . I knew very well."

"Are you ever coming back?"

"What kind of a question is that? Of course I'm coming back. As soon as you find a nice young man and settle down."

"Hmpf. I don't want a 'nice young man.' I want somebody like you."

Bart burst out laughing again and shook his head. "Me? You don't want somebody like me! A drifter, a gambler, a con man with no roots. Somebody that blows wherever the wind takes him! Somebody that gets convicted for something he didn't do and almost dies for it? God forbid, you need someone who puts you first, someone that'll help you raise those babies, someone that'll always be there for you. Not like me."

No sense arguing with him; he had his mind made up. "I'll miss you."

"I know you will, darlin', but it's best I go. I need to be someplace that's warm and peaceful. Someplace I can just sit under a shady tree and get fat. Can't see doin' that around here."

"How long? Before you go, I mean?"

"Oh, a week or two. Before the first big snowstorm closes the trails. Once Beau and Georgia have made plans. And one more thing – when Bret's ready to go. He's going with me to New Mexico. Wants to make sure I get there with no problems. I told him I'd let him play chaperone for me just to keep him busy. Got to keep those Maverick boys out of trouble, you know."

Jody rose from her seat; she walked over to Bart and kissed him on the cheek the way she'd wanted to all those weeks in jail and hadn't been able to. "I'm going home to get ready for the party tonight. You take a nap, I'm sure you could use one."

He stood for her and she pushed him back down. "Stay there; I know where the door is."

She walked to the door, gave him one of her little waves, and was gone. He sat there for a few minutes, relaxed and comfortable, and quickly fell asleep. For a few minutes he napped peacefully, then a new version of his nightmare appeared. He was back on the third step of the gallows this morning, but this time there was no Bret; no Beau to save him. Georgia and Jody were there and watched him slowly climb the steps to the top. Once there the sheriff put the noose around his neck and tightened it. Then Mort reached for the trap door lever and . . . . he felt the floor give way under him and the rope tightened . . . . and just as he felt his neck snap he woke up and fell to his knees on the floor. And he started to shake, this time from the realization of how close he'd come to dying . . . . . And finally he could contain the feelings no longer – panic, fear, horror, shame; he was overwhelmed by emotion. A strangled cry rose in his throat and he couldn't hold it back – and when it burst out of him it was followed by earth shattering sobs. The months of pain and exhaustion shook him to his very soul. And, like his brother before him, he cried until there were no more tears.


	53. Chapter 53 What Am I Bid?

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Chapter 53 – What am I Bid?

After the plans were set for tonight's celebration at the saloon, Beau left the office upstairs and went down to see Georgia. Bart was free; Rusty Meyers was dead; all the awful things that happened to the Mavericks in this town were over. Time for something good. He hoped.

Georgia was in her office checking last night's receipts. Not too bad considering they'd closed the saloon early due to the anticipated event scheduled for today. Tonight would be worse; everything was on the house. Not often your best friend gets a 'last minute stay of execution.' She didn't care. They'd made enough profits in the last few weeks to pay for anything they wanted. She looked up when she sensed someone at the door.

It was Beau, looking tense. "May I come in?" he asked formally.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

He closed her office door and took a seat in front of her desk. "So, Bart's free."

"Yes," she answered slowly.

"Meyers is dead."

"Yes."

"Nothing bad to contend with."

"No."

"Good. There's something I've wanted to talk to you about."

She looked at him, puzzled. The only thing he'd wanted to talk to her about – surely this couldn't be that, could it? "Yes?"

He sat forward and leaned on the front of her desk. He was very serious. "Georgia Mayfield, I think you know that I love you. I would be more than honored if you would marry me. Will you, please?"

She had every intention of saying no. She had made up her mind to say no. Every ounce of her being was screaming "NO NO NO NO." But what came out of her mouth was "Yes."

Beau sat there and stared at her. "Yes? You said yes?"

Once again. "Yes."

He couldn't get out of the chair and around the desk fast enough. Then she was in his arms and they kissed sweetly, tenderly, then passionately. He finally backed away from her. "I have a ring for you. It was my mother's. It's in Texas. I'll send for it."

"Beau – let's not tell anyone just yet. Let it be our secret for a few days. Is that alright with you?"

"Whatever you want, Georgia. Anything is fine with me. As long as you're happy."

"Thank you. I need time to talk to Jody."

"She knows I was going to ask you."

"She's still my daughter. I want to talk to her. After the party tonight."

XXXXXXXX

Bret stopped by Bart's room around nine o'clock to see if he needed help getting down to the saloon. He knocked on the door and there was no answer. He knocked again. Still no response. Now what?

'_Don't panic, Bret,'_ he told himself. _'Go see if he's in the dining room having a late supper.' _So down the stairs he went, searching for his brother. He found Bart sitting at a table by himself, head in his hands, with a cold cup of coffee sitting next to him. He pulled out a chair and sat down. Bart looked up, startled to see him.

"Brother Bart, you're not ready to go." Bart had on the same clothes that he was wearing this morning.

Bart's eyes were bloodshot and he groaned weakly. "I'm not going."

"Why not?" Bret wasn't going to ask about the bloodshot eyes. He'd had those himself, a few weeks back.

"I have a splitting headache." He realized the implication of his statement and hurriedly added, "Just a regular headache."

"Anything to do with your eyes?"

"What? Probably. I assume an explanation is not required."

A shake of the head. "No sir, no explanation required." Pause. "But you have to go. You're the guest of honor."

Bart chuckled, not in a happy way. "More like the guest of dishonor."

"Why, because you finally reacted to everything that's happened?"

"Is that what it was?" He hadn't felt like this since – well, in a long time.

"Bart, you're human. I never could have held it together like you did."

"No. You've been in your fair share of tight spots."

"Not like that."

"So what's my excuse now? It's over and done with. Pike's dead. Meyers's dead. Pete Sanborn's dead. I'm not. Why now? Am I still falling apart? What do I do now?"

Bret needed to say something to get his brother out of the state of mind he'd found himself in. "You're doing it. You're going to visit Samantha and the ranch. There's nothing to do there but relax and heal. By the time you're back at full strength your mind will be too."

"What about the nightmares?"

"Are they back?"

"Oh yeah. That's how I got these." Bart pointed to his eyes.

"You've had them before, haven't you?"

"Yep."

"After you lost - "

"Yes." Bart cut him off before he could say her name.

"But they went away, didn't they?"

Bart had to think about that for a minute but realized they had, once he'd gotten his head on straight. Maybe that's all he needed. Maybe Bret was right. "Have any more aspirin left in your room?"

Bret clapped him on the arm. "That's my boy. Let's go get aspirin and get you dressed."

XXXXXXXX

Bret cornered Jody at the party after he got Bart dressed and down to the saloon. "I'd like to talk to you, Missy," he told her.

"Yes sir," she answered. She went behind the bar and got out a whiskey crate and stood on it. She almost reached Bret's chin. "What can I do for you?"

He picked her up and put her back on the floor, then took her hand and led her into Beau's upstairs office. "This is serious. I want to talk business."

"With me?" What would Bret have to talk to her about?

"Yes ma'am. I know that Bart gave you his share of 'The Three Mavericks.' I've got a proposition for you."

So Bart had told Brother Bret about his generosity? Did he want Bart's share of the business?

"I'd like to sell you my share of the saloon, too. The only stipulation is that you'll sell it back to me if I ever come back and want back in, and you'll let me run the high stakes poker table again."

Uh-huh. There had to be a catch to all this. Where was the catch? "And just how much do you want to sell me your share for?"

She waited with baited breath to see what kind of an asking price he wanted. Probably out of her reach but she was listening all the same. "One dollar."

She must have heard him wrong. "How much?"

"One dollar."

"That's what I thought you said. Why?"

"Look, Jody, I know we haven't gotten as close as you and Bart, or even you and Beau. Someday I'm gonna want to settle down and stay in one place and this gives me a back-up. Just in case that day comes sooner rather than later. Besides, I know what good care you took of Bart. He always wanted a sister and now he's got one. I don't think he'd have made it through all this without your help. Your help and your love and your support. And Beau's gonna need a partner. Somebody with a good head on their shoulders and somebody who will call him on his 'stuff' if he gets out of line. Bart trusts you; so do I. Do we have a deal?"

Her admiration for Bart's brother was growing rapidly. She stuck out her hand to shake his. "Yes sir, we have a deal."

Bret grinned a Maverick grin. "Looks like we're keepin' the business in the family." 


	54. Chapter 54 End of the Road

Jessie Maverick's Kin

**PLEASE SEE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT END OF CHAPTER** Chapter 54 – End of the Road

Two days later Pappy boarded a south bound stage. He'd arrived not knowing if his youngest son was alive or dead and he left knowing that, while not yet well, Bart was finally on the road to recovery. Bret would ride the stage to Dry Springs with his brother and might even stay awhile at the Crawford Ranch. Beau had taken his Uncle Beauregard aside and told him that he'd asked Georgia for her hand in marriage and the lady had said yes. He promised to get Abigail's ring from Bentley and get it back to Beau as quickly as he could. He kissed Jody and hugged her tight to him, looking in the pale blue eyes of his sister's doppelganger and knowing 'The Three Mavericks' saloon was where it belonged.

Georgia and Jody had a wonderful mother-daughter talk about Beau and everyone seemed to be at peace with the decision to marry. Sheriff Mort Bowman was informed by the mayor and town council that he was being replaced by Marshal Travis Cole, whom they'd hired away from Fern Creek. Marshal Cole was single. Hiram Foster informed Georgia that the JP Ranch was now hers. Edgar Pike had died intestate, and Jessie named Georgia as her contingent beneficiary.

Bret and Bart started making plans to leave Silver Creek within the next week. Bart was getting stronger every day and used the cane sporadically now; by the time they boarded the stage to Denver he probably wouldn't need it at all.

Doc Washburn decided to retire and sent for a new young doctor he knew that could handle the increasing populace in town. His name was Beckham Dooley and he, too was single. The possibilities for Jody seemed endless.

Beau and Georgia formally announced their engagement and Beau moved his belongings to Georgia's house. Georgia officially moved to the JP ranch and renamed it 'The Mother Lode.' She still spent most nights in town with Beau. They had to hire three more girls at the saloon and, as was Jessie's practice, looked for girls who needed jobs the most.

Packing day arrived and Bret packed for both of them. The Denver stage left at eight a.m. and they had to be ready to go. Bart promised to meet Jody for dinner and Harry escorted her up to the hotel dining room so that Maverick didn't have to go too far. She looked absolutely radiant tonight and even though she was sad to see Bart leave, knew in her heart that if she ever needed him, he would be there. Besides, some day she would marry and have babies and tell them all about their Uncle Bartley.

They had a pleasant meal and talked about anything and everything, and when it was time to go Jody kissed Bart on the cheek, waved good-bye and told him, "I love you, Bartley."

"I love you too, Jody Mayfield Maverick. I wish you all the happiness in the world."

The next morning Bret carried his and Bart's luggage to the stage and helped his brother board. Beau, Georgia and Jody along with Hiram Foster and Doc Washburn saw them off. And that was the end of their sojourn in Silver Creek, Montana this time.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I want to thank everyone for reading this story and hanging in there with me. It turned out to be much longer than I anticipated, but it just kept pushing me forward. Don't quit now, there's a two page epilogue coming! And that's all, I promise!


	55. Chapter 55 Epilogue

Jessie Maverick's Kin

Epilogue

It took a week to get home to Little Bend. It was still hot and dry, even in winter, and Beauregard welcomed the change in weather. He never could understand how Jessie put up with the cold in Montana, and he was glad to be out of it.

He went to Bentley's for dinner and shared the news of Beau's engagement. Ben was concerned at first with the age difference, but Pappy assured him that 'his boy' had made a wise choice. Georgia was kind, thoughtful, charming and made a great partner for Beau. She was smart and a good businesswoman and she truly loved Beau, whatever his faults. Ben assured his brother that he would send his wife's ring to his son for the soon-to-be Mrs. Maverick.

Pappy felt at peace when he returned home but there was still something that needed to be taken care of. He found the box of important papers he kept and searched through everything until he found it. The one thing he had of Jessie's and what Jody Mayfield had searched so desperately for when the Maverick's first came to Silver Creek – Jessalyn Maverick's real will. Before she died, Jessie informed Jody that there was a will the Maverick's had. She told Jody to search for it, since the one left with Hiram Foster in Silver Creek was NOT the correct one. Jody assumed that when Jessie said 'the Maverick's' had it, it was with one of the nephews. That was her mistake and the reason she couldn't find the actual document. Beauregard Maverick, her big brother in Little Bend, Texas had it.

He opened the original set of papers and read through them. Then he read them again to make sure he'd understood everything. Jessie left almost everything, not to Edgar Pike or her three nephews, but to Jody Mayfield Maverick, her daughter.

Jessie sent Beauregard a letter with the document, and he unfolded that now and read it again:

_My Dear Big Brother Beauregard - _

_I hope this letter finds you well. I wish I could say the same, the doctor fears consumption and it appears he may be right. I am sending you the will that I had an attorney in Denver prepare for me. It will take precedence over the will prepared for me locally by Hiram Foster, my attorney in Silver Creek. Please do not produce this actual will until Edgar has been dealt with, as I fear he will learn the true parentage of our daughter, Jody. _

_There are only three people on this earth who know that I am, in fact, Jody's real mother - Georgia Mayfield, me and now yourself. I could not ask for a truer and more loyal friend than Georgia, who gave my baby girl a home so that she would not have to grow up around Edgar. I can never repay the love and kindness that she has shown me over the years. I would be truly lost without her friendship. _

_Please send the boys to Silver Creek to deal with Edgar once I am gone. Don't tell them until you have to of the subterfuge that we have undertaken in order to protect Jody. I'm sure they are fine young men and will be able to handle Edgar and whatever trouble he attempts to bring their way. _

_I miss you and Bentley and Micah and long to see my family once more before I go, but I fear that is not meant to be. Please know that I have always loved my brothers, especially you and Ben, and you have always been and will always be in my heart. Bless you and our unwitting accomplices in this ruse, and may everything turn out for the best._

_Your loving sister,_

_Jessie_

It had been a long time since Pappy read Jessie's letter, and as always, it broke his heart. How ironic that he had almost sacrificed his youngest son's life in order to protect Jessie's secret. He said a prayer to thank God that Bart had survived everything he'd been through and they'd all come out the other side. Jody owned 2/3 of the saloon that bore their name thanks to Bart and Bret's generosity. He had no doubt that Beau's share would someday be hers, too. And Jessie's house and the ranch was in possession of Georgia, who would also soon be a Maverick. It was no wonder that Bart felt such a close kinship with Jody; not only were they cousins but Bart finally knew of his strong resemblance to the aunt he'd never met, Jody's mother.

Pappy stoked the fire that he'd started for this occasion. Gently he laid Jessie's will on one of the burning logs and watched it go up in flames. The edges curled up and then the middle of the paper, and finally all that was left was a pile of ashes. Then he kissed the letter good-bye and laid it on the same log. It too burned to nothing.

Beauregard looked at the old photo that had sat for so long on Edgar Pike's mantel and sighed. Jessie Maverick was home at last, back among her kin where she belonged.


End file.
